I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. \ 

\ -PS/076 I 



! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! 



Y 









POEMS 



HORACE P. BTDDLE. 




A 



jprinteb at tt)e Hbersibe Press, 

AND FOR SALE BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 

NEW YORK. 

1868. 












Entered according to Act of Congress, in the a ear 1868, by 

Horace P. Diddle, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Indiana 



TO MY BELOVED SISTER, 

Mrs. ATHELINDA SPENCER, 
5TJns Volume 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

THE AUTHOR. 



THE POET TO HIS POEMS. 

Sweet children of my throbbing brain, 
Dear offspring of an aching heart, 

Wrung from the spirit in its pain, 
And of my yearning soul a part ! 

In all the fortune I have seen, 

My constant care has been for thee ; 

In hope or anguish thou hast been 
The purest, sweetest joy to me ! 

And I have loved thee with a heart 
That but too well its passion proved, 

And thee, unworthy as thou art, 

First, last, and fondest, I have loved ! 

Ye soar not on a lofty wing, 

Your notes are all untuned by art ; 

Yet ye may chant some little thing — 

Some strain — that will not leave the heart. 

But whatsoe'er may be thy worth, — 

However little may commend, 
Unheralded I send thee forth, 

Without a patron or a friend ! ; 



Vlll 



THE POET TO HIS POEMS. 



The many in this world of guile 
For thee will never deign a care ; 

Some, haply, may vouchsafe a smile, 
The genial few will drop a tear ! 




CONTENTS. 



— ♦ — 

PAGE 

Home Memories 1 

The Cottage 4 

The Cottage Flower 6 

The Blush 7 

The Serenade 8 

The Bower 10 

Autumn 12 

When I am dead 15 

The Old School House 16 

The Country Girl 17 

Love, Venus, and Hymen 18 

Say, when we meet 20 

They said he courted for my Gold . . .21 

Think of the One 23 

The Proposal 25 

The Flower of the Dell . . . . 27 

Death of Mozart 28 

To Harriet 29 

The Young Bird 30 

The World 31 

The Painted Lady 32 

The Parting 33 

The Ramble 34 



Xll CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Injured Love 38 

The Meeting of Eyes 39 

The Request 40 

The Dream 41 

The Death of Ella 48 

Grief 44 

Despair 45 

Ella's Grave 46 

The Wreck 47 

The Tomb 48 

To One in Heaven 49 

The Dove 51 

The Dead Flower 52 

The Broken Heart 53 

Since Ella is gone from Me 54 

My Buried Bride . 56 

The Loved One 58 

Death of the Beautiful 61 

Thought 62 

Spring 64 

Life 65 

Immortality 66 

The Wanderer 67 

Time's Soliloquy 68 

The End of Time 70 

Philosophy 71 

Hope 73 

Thought, Soul, and Heart 75 

Soul 76 

Time and the Beauty 77 



CONTENTS. xiii 

PAGE 

Sweet Memories of Thee 78 

Beauty 80 

Lote and Damon 82 

Come wi' Me in the Gloamin' .... 84 

The Knight's Love 86 

The Birth of Cupid 88 

To a Caged Bird . 89 

Hidden Love 90 

Love and Wisdom 92 

This I know, I love Thee 94 

The Sweet Secret 95 

The Broken Pledge 96 

Wedlock 98 

'Tis Heaven, 'tis only Heaven .... 99 

Unwedded Love 100 

The Eeconciliation 102 

The Angel and the Flower 104 

To 105 

The Coquette 106 

Spirit of Beauty 108 

Impromptu to Beauty 110 

The Music of the Universe .... m 
The Dying Words of Little Cecilia . . .113 

Jenny and Robin 114 

The Bachelor's Puzzle 116 

Love 118 

Love and the Sages 120 

The Enchantress . 122 

Time and Pleasure 123 

Jamie 124 

Ambition and Care 126 



xiv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Absent One 127 

Modesty 129 

The Old Pioneer -130 

Mary 135 

The Sigh and Tear 136 

O, Stay 137 

Nettie 138 

Go 139 

The Forsaken 140 

Peggy's Coot 142 

The Spirit's Visit 143 

My Cottage Home 146 

The Rejected Lover 148 

Despondency 149 

MAry Brown 150 

Sweet, my Gentle One 152 

The Stricken One 154 

The Lover's Secret 155 

Old Care 157 

Lost Love 159 

Gentle Deeds 160 

When I am a Spikit 161 

The Maiden's Confession 162 

Happy Hours 163 

The Mystery 167 

The Spoiled Beauty 169 

The Last Kiss 171 

The Wronged One 172 

The Bachelor 174 

Beauty and Virtue 176 

Shakespeare 177 



CONTENTS. XV 

PAGE 

Z0E 178 

The Image 180 

The Beautiful 182 

The Two Hunters 184 

Joy To-night 187 

The Mighty Ruler 189 

The Cup of Happiness 191 

Love Verses 197 

Josephine 203 

Love is like a Bee 204 

Poor Lavinia 206 

Memory 209 

Bliss and Bane 211 

To Mary 212 

Self 213 

The Old Coquette 215 

My Love 217 

Come, Love, to Me 219 

The Sweet South Wind 221 

Moran and Nora 223 

To 225 

The Brook 226 

Happy To-day 229 

Virtue 231 

The March of Humanity 233 

Poetry 235 

Music 236 

Niagara 237 

The Tryst 238 

To Beauty 239 



XVI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

On a Miser's Safe 240 

Knowledge and Duty . . . . . . 241 

On the Professions 242 

Bettina to Goethe 243 

The Two Kisses. 

the first 260 

the second 261 

Her Beauty 262 

Her Death 264 

i cannot tell 265 

The Question 266 

The Swallow 268 

The Banquet 270 

Ye Heavenly Powers 272 

Song of the Union Men 273 

Heroes of the Cumberland .... 275 

One 277 

The Soldier's Burial 279 

We 281 

Lost Annie 283 

The Song of the Old 285 

Fifty m 287 

The Old Man 291 

Questionings 293 

Sleep 295 

Song of an Atom 299 

Leon and Fidelia 303 

Poor Jane 316 

The Soul's Soliloquy 329 

Notes 339 



POEMS 




HOME MEMORIES. 

I had a mother, but ere six summers' sun 
Had kissed my boyish locks she was no 
more. 
Thus gone my guide when life had just begun, 

And I too young my guardian to deplore ; 
Yet memory wanders back to days of yore, 
And finds one tender place no time can 
hide — 
Tis deeply printed in my bosom's core ; 
'Twas when she faintly called me to her 
side, 
Kissed my wet cheek, begged blessings on 
her boy, and died! 



I had a father, and I had a home ; 

It was an humble cottage near the grove. 
I left my father and' the humble dome, 

While yet my chin the boy did plainly 
prove ; 
He gave me all he had to give — his love ; 

And well my heart remembers how the tear 
Stole down his aged cheek, and how I strove 
1 



2 SOME MEMORIES. 

To hide my own: Again, ere sped a year, 
I came; the cottage stood, my father was not 
there ! 

And there was one whose name I never speak, 
Lest some unfeeling ear should hear it told ; 
Perchance I breathe it in my dreams, but 
wake 
To know that now her answering lips are 
cold. 
How miserly the wounded heart will hold 
Its cherished thoughts, and count them o'er 
and o'er ! 
As soon it would unto the knife unfold 

Its half-healed wounds, and gash them to 
the core, 
As tell them to the world to deeper probe 
the sore ! 

I strewed my friendships as doth Autumn 
seeds ; 
Some fell on soil that paid my heart ten- 
fold, 
And some on earth that naught will yield but 
weeds ; 
Some fell on rocks and perished with the 
cold ; 
Some serpents grew, to catch me in their fold 
And spit their venom on my wandering 
feet, 



HOME MEMORIES. 3 

Or, reptile-like, to sting me from their hold, 

Wily as he who made our mother eat: 
Vile things ; unworthy of my love, alike my 
hate ! 

Such was my home ; I left it when a lad. 
Years, years had fled; again I sought the 
door ; — 
None met me there to make my bosom glad . 

My father and my mother were no more ! 
I raised the humble latch and paced the floor ; 
The hearth was cold, and desolate the room ; 
I spoke, the walls gave back a hollow roar; 
The winds were sighing through the open 
dome, 
And whispering to my soul, " This is no more 
your home ! " 



THE COTTAGE. 

The day din was past, night had hushed the 
soft breeze, 
Afar o'er the hills the church-bells were 
chiming ; 
I found a lone cottage, 'twas hid in the trees, 
And the wild rose and vine o'er its lattice 
were climbing. 
Methought, as I gazed on the flowers so fair, 
If earth has a spot that is lovely, 'tis there ! 

I paused at the threshold — I heard a soft 

lyre, 
Indeed it seemed "touched by a Fairy's 

light finger;" 
A voice like an angel's completed the choir, 
Whose tones on my memory forever shall 

linger. 
Methought, as the harmony swelled o'er the 

air, 
If the music of Heaven finds earth, it is there ! 

Time's wing flew so softly I knew not it 
stirred, 
But the moon was on high and the dewdrop 
did glisten, 



THE COTTAGE. 5 

Though Time, too, had tarried, I'm sure, had 

he heard, 
For the stars of the azure seemed pausing 

to listen. 
Methought, for this cot was no home for old 

Care, 
If there's love on this earth, it is surely there ! 




THE COTTAGE FLOWER. 

I know a spot where I love to go, 

The dearest of all to me, 
'Tis where, when the zephyrs gently blow, 

They bend the tall poplar tree! 

Where the Vaves of the streamlet dancing 
play 
O'er the rocks like a tiny sea ; 
Where the moon looks down with her sweet- 
est ray 
On the cot by the poplar tree ! 

But 'tis not the tree, nor the cot that's there, 

That I love the best to see ; 
For I know a flower more sweet and fair, 

That blooms by the poplar tree ! 

I've gazed on the flower of many a spot 
And still was wild as the bee, — 

But I've seen the one that lives in the cot 
That stands by the poplar tree ! 



THE BLUSH. 

A rose from my hand Ella's ringlet had 

graced ; 

From its snare to her cheek it caressingly 

bowed : 

A lily — snow white — in her bosom I placed, 

She chidingly half, and half-willing, allowed ! 

I had just culled the rose, blooming, fresh 
from the bush, 
And the beautiful lily was new from the 
mead ; 
As I gazed, her fair cheek taught the rose how 
to blush, 
And the lily, so beaten, had hung down its 
head ! 



THE SERENADE. 

Bright Phoebus had bid his adieu to the 
plain, 
His lingering blushes had gone from the 
sky; 
Diana had come with her heavenly train, 
And her silvery car was careering on high. 

A minstrel stole forth, he had well tuned the 
string, 
His thrilling guitar o'er his bosom was hung ; 
The sweet-laden zephyr had furled his soft 
wing 
As 'neath a closed window the minstrel thus 
sung: — 

" Say, say, my fair maiden, the sun has gone 

down, 
The moon softly looks on the dew-spangled 

lea, 
With a sweet smiling visage that ne'er wears 

a frown ; 
Wilt thou, like the moon, Love, look down 

upon me ? " 



THE SERENADE. 9 

Softly op'd the green lattice and sweetly looked 
down, 
Through clouds of dark ringlets, a bright 
beaming eye, 
And a bosom peered through, fair and chaste 
as the moon, 
Half hid by a hand that would Hebe's 
outvie ! 

" Come, come, my fair maiden, the stars are 

abroad, 

The turtle has flown to her nest in the tree, 

Sequestered and still is the vine-tangled road ; 

Wilt thou, like a star, Love, come wander 

with me ? " 

" O, no, no ; I cannot, I dare not go with 
thee, 
Although I have deigned, sir, to list to your 
song, — 
But to wander alone, forgive me, do, 
prithee ; 
I never can do it ; indeed, 'twould be wrong." 

" come, my sweet maiden ! By Heaven above, 
And thine eye, and those tresses, when we 
are alone 
No act shall be ruder than kiss her I love, 
No word more indecorous than call her — 
my own ! " 



THE BOWER. 

Sweet Lilla at the noon-tide strayed, 
And sought a summer bower, 

To rest in its sequestered shade, 
And cull the blooming flower. 

As lambkin, innocent and gay, 

And nimble as the hind, 
She gamboled in her rustic play, 

Then 'mid the flowers reclined. 

Soon by that way came gentle Sleep, 

And sealed her violet eye, 
But left unhid her sweet ripe lip 

And cheek of roseate dye. 

A butterfly, too, chanced that way, 
And sported round the bower 

Upon his silken wings so gay, 
To enjoy his summer hour. 

From flower to flower he quickly flew 

To find a dainty sip, 
And, searching thus for honey-dew, 

Mistook her rosy lip ! 



THE BOWER. 



11 



In truth it was the sweetest flower 
That e'er grew 'neath the sky, 

And grant me, Heaven, a fairy's power, 
" I'd be a butterfly : 

" Born in a bower, 



Where roses, and lilies, and violets meet; 
Roving forever from flower to flower, 

And kissing all buds that are pretty and 
sweet." 




AUTUMN. 

Again mild Autumn with her fruits is here ; 
All Nature 's ripe, the air is bland and mel- 
low ; 
The season marks the closing of the year, 
For see, the leaves are falling sear and yel- 
low ! 
The sturdy tree is of its foliage stripped, 

The forest's golden hue bespeaks decay ; 
The vale's sweet flow'ret by the frost is nipped, 

Reminding all of life's poor fitful day, 
And telling man that he is naught but moulder- 
ing clay ! 

First comes young Spring, the sweetest of the 
year, 
Then Summer blooms with all her beaute- 
ous show ; 
Rich Autumn follows with her laden cheer, 

Then hoary Winter with his cap of snow ; • 
And thus the fleeting tale of human life : 
First childhood's innocence, then youthful 
bloom, 
Then riper manhood with its care and strife ; 

Next hoary age our falling locks assume, 
Then Death's unwelcome frost soon lays us in 
the tomb ! 



AUTUMN. 13 

And yet how few e'en this short race can run ! 

Some fell mishap may crush the opening 
flower, 
And lay it low ere its sweet bloom begun; 

How oft in bloom some sad untimely power 
Sweeps rudely o'er and fells it to the ground ; 

And if perchance it passes Summer's bloom, 
Still dangers thick the fragile stem surround, 

And Autumn's frost may nip it for the tomb. 
In dying Nature, Man, then read thy certain 
doom ! 

Does Nature die ? or slumber as she lies 

Locked in the folds of icy Winter's chain, 
To wait another Spring, then joyful rise 
Above her grave with freshened bloom 
again ? 
Ah, yes ; the leaf that trembles on its stem, 
And finds a grave with all its numerous 
train, 
To earth returns to bloom another gem, 

And deck the tree or flow'ret of the plain ; 
Thus Nature dies and blooms, and blooms and 
dies again ! 

Does man, too, die ? or does he only sleep 
Beneath the stone that marks his cold abode, 

To rise again from that sad cheerless deep, 
And live forever, infinite as God ! 

Like Autumn's leaf by earth's rude tempest 
torn, 



14 



AUTUMN. 



Man springs, and grows, and falls, again to 
rise ; 
Not like the leaf, to wear the dress he'd worn, 

But clothed anew, he soars into the skies, 
And there receives a life that never, never 
dies ! 




WHEN I AM DEAD. 

Show no vain pomp nor mockery of woe, 

Let my pale corpse no slow procession lead, 
For me put on no senseless weeds of show, 
When I am dead. 

My tomb let no grand mausoleum tell, 

Lay not a single stone to mark my bed, 
I would that none should know my narrow cell, 
When I am dead ; 

But silent bear me to my last abode, 

On its cold pillow gently lay my head. 
For worms my dust ; my soul, O take it, God, 
When I am dead ! 



THE OLD SCHOOL HOUSE. 

That little green afar, 

Peering above the stream, — 

It seems I once was there; 
Or is it but a dream? 

The cabin on the hill, 

The oaks that stand hard by, — 
They wake my bosom's thrill ; 

Good stranger, tell me why ? 

But, hist ! ah, now I see : 

'Tis where my early days 
Were spent in noisy glee, — 

Scene of my school-boy plays. 

The stream is running there, 
The birds sing on the tree, 

Flocks climb the hill ; but where 
Are the boys that played with me? 

All scattered like the leaves : 

A few the goal have won, 
Many are in their graves, 

And I am here — alone ! 



THE COUNTRY GIRL. 

I saw her in the morning hour, 

Bright as the beaming ray, 
Culling the hardy mountain flower 

Ere the dew was kissed away. 

Light as the lambkin of the herd, 

As graceful as the fawn, 
And swiftly as the flitting bird, 

She bounded o'er the lawn. 

Her little foot dashed off the dew, 
She leaped the blooming hedge, 

Up, up the mount she quickly flew, 
And over the rocky ledge. 

Soft was the hand the flow'ret press'd, 

Gently it touched the stem ; 
Fair was the round, white, swelling breast 

That held the gathered gem. 

The prize secured, away she flew, 

Back to her cottage home ; 
Her glowing cheek's sweet roseate hue 

Outshone the flow'ret's bloom ! 

2 



LOVE, VENUS, AND HYMEN. 

One summer eve in a sunny land, 

At twilight's wooing hour, 
Young Love took Venus by the hand 

And sought a maiden's bower. 

Amid the flowers he frolicked round, 

Reveling in every sweet ; 
He wove a wreath and the maiden crowned. 

Strewing roses at her feet ! 

And as he crowned her smooth fair brow, 

Anon he stole a kiss, 
Reclined his head on a breast of snow, 

And whispered tales of bliss ! 

" Away, away ! " the maiden said, 
"Though thou hast won my heart 

Yet thy false guide would wrong a maid ; 
Away, away ; depart ! " 

Thus Love was banished from his bride, 

And from the bower of joy, 
Because he chose a wicked guide 

And played the wanton boy ! 



LOVE, VENUS, AND HYMEN. 19 

But he sought again the lovely maid, 

In hopes she'd yet be kind ; 
He approached her by chaste Hymen led, 

(Still Venus lurked behind !) 

There weeping sat his lonely bride; 

His step her fear alarms ; 
But seeing Hymen by his side, 

She clasped him in her arms ! 

And now young Love hath naught to fear, 

But feeds on many a kiss, 
Tells his fond tale to a willing ear, 

And sleeps on a bed of bliss ! 




SAY, WHEN WE MEET. 

Say, when we meet will that fair hand 

Warmly return my press, 
And should there be no intruder by, 

Then dare I steal a kiss ? 

Say, when we meet will that dark eye 

In tell-tale tears o'erflow, 
That gentle bosom hide its flame, 

And hiding still more show ? 

Say, will that heart too full to speak 

Swell with emotion's tide ; 
That cheek, lest it should own a tale, 

Within my bosom hide ? 

Say, when I chase that^tear away, 

And all thy fears beguile, 
Will that fair cheek unfold its rose, 

And dimple with a smile ? 

Say, when I press thee to my heart, 

And fondly call thee mine, 
And with my kiss hush those sweet lips 

Will thy heart breathe "I'm thine?" 



THEY SAID HE COURTED FOR MY 
GOLD. 

They said he courted for my gold, 

My father thought so too, 
But could they hear the tale he told 

I'm sure they'd think him true. 

He wished he owned all India's shore, 

'Twould bring his only bli£s ; 
Not that he cared for paltry ore, 

But I should then be his. 

He wished he bore a hero's name 

With laurels like the Bow ; 
Not, he said, that he cared for fame, 

But to place them on my brow. 

He wished he wore the noblest crown 

That e'er on head had been, 
Not that he cared to fill a throne, 

But that I should be his queen. 

But gold, nor fame, nor crown was his, — 

My father bid us part ; 
But far a better prize than these, — 

He had a noble heart ! 



22 THEY SAID HE COURTED FOR MY GOLD. 

I wish I ne'er had owned a groat ; 

'Twould soften father's pride ; 
Happy would be the humblest lot, 

If he were by my side ! 




THINK OF THE ONE. 

And wilt thou leave me weeping here? 

One that is thine, thine only? 
Then go ; but when thy friends are near, 

Think of the one that's lonely. 

And when thou hear'st a fond lip swear, 
Think of the vows once spoken ; 

And should'st thou learn that oaths are ai , 
Think of the vows now broken. 

When crushed thou see'st the flow'ret fair, 
Think of the heart that's rending ; 

And should a dew-drop tremble there, 
Think of the tear descending. 

And when thou feel'st the world's chill wind, 
When its keen wrongs have moved thee, 

Or when some friend hath proved unkind, 
Think of the one who loved thee. 

When quiet rests thy pangless breast, 

Calm as a babe when sleeping, 
And when by others' smiles caress'd, 

Think of the one that's weeping. 



24 



THINK OF THE ONE. 



And when thou callest another " mine,' 
When the fond knot is tying 

And joyous hopes of life are thine, 
Think of the one that's dying ! 




THE PROPOSAL 

" Come tell me, clear Fanny, why art thou so 
sad ? " 
Said Hal, as her hand with affection he press'd, 
While his head, half reclined, on her bosom 
was laid, 
And his cheek by her ringlets caress'd. 

" Since William was here I have not seen thee 
smile, 
And that little pout I don't understand. 
Say, Fanny, what is it thy smiles doth beguile ;' 
Come, tell me, dear girl, has he asked for 
thy hand ? " 

A pause ; then he said, " Dearest one, I am 

thine, 

And how fondly my heart doth reveal it : 

Yes, thine, only thine, and if thou wilt be 

mine, 

Let us promise, and wedlock shall seal it. 

His eyes rose to hers to see what was there, 
His hand press'd her own with a still fonder 
clasp 



26 THE PROPOSAL. 

He gazed, and he listened, but nothing could 
hear, 
And her hand was withdrawn from his 
grasp. 

" If mine thou art not, send my hopes all a- 
wreck, 
Or if thou art his, Fanny, go, we will part ! " 
Fanny uttered no language, but fell on his 
neck, 
And her tears told the tale of her heart ! 




THE FLOWER OF THE DELL. 

They said that the flower I gazed on so oft, 
Though fair to the view, had a stain ; 

I looked on its leaves so blushing and soft, 
And oft turned them over and over again. 



It grew by itself in a lone little dell, 

By its modesty hid from the meddlesome 
bee; 
Though it grew not so lofty as those on the 
hill, 
But yet it was softer and sweeter to me. 

As I studied the gem I drew to it nearer, 

My love saw no blight on its delicate bloom, 
And as oft as they crushed it to me it was 
dearer, 
For it gave out a richer and sweeter per- 
fume ! 



DEATH OF MOZART. 

My daughter, come sing me the song 
Your mother so often did sing, 

For I feel that I'm going ere long ; — 
It will rob old Death of his sting. 

'Twas the song that I loved in my youth ; 

'Twill cheer the sad moment that's left 
Ere I leave you to try Heaven's truth, 

When my soul from this dust is bereft. 

Come, take the sweet music and play ; 

It will this sad bosom condole, 
Not to quiet the suffering clay, 

But to brighten the lingering soul ! 

O, sing it once more ere we part, 

'Twill banish this heart-rending pain ; — 

See, I sink, there's a weight at my heart ; 
Now I go, — let me die with the strain ! 



TO HARRIET. 

Thy father came to a distant clime 
From that which knew thy childhood ; 

Far, far away from Albion's chime 
He sleeps in the lonely wildwood. 

He saw thy hand in its nimble play 
Quick o'er the white keys flinging ; 

He smiled ; he hoped ; but was torn away 
Ere the chords had ceased their ringing. 

But daughter, again come wake the string. 
Though a father cannot hear it, — 

Come touch the strain that he loved to sing, 
'Twill fly away to his spirit ! 



THE YOUNG BIRD. 

"O mother, mother, come let me fly, 

I'm sure I am plenty strong ; 
O mother, mother, now let me try, 

I've lain in the nest so long. 

" See, see my wings with their full-grown 
fledge, 

With these I can surely rise ! 
0, let me fly from this old, low hedge, 

And sing my song in the skies." 

" No, no, sweet bird ! you must not fly, 
And be not so vain and proud ; 

There's many an ill below the sky, 
That's hid in the gilded cloud." 

But the silly young birdling plumed her breast, 

Flew off, and began to sing; 
But she never came back to her mother's 
nest, 

For the hawk was on the wing ! 



THE WORLD. 

How fondly we think during innocent child, 
hood, 
That the world is a garden where flowers 
e'er spring ; 
A beautiful vale, or a sweet-scented wildwood, 
Where 'mid the green branches the birds 
gaily sing. 

But alas, sad experience tells us too plainly 
That our garden 's a desert where beasts 
ever prowl ; 
The vale and the wildwood a wilderness lone- 

iy, 

And the song of the birds some hideous 
howl ! 



THE PAINTED LADY. 

Perchance a gaudy painted flower, 
Whose colors catch the eye, 

May, for an idle sportive hour, 
Attract the butterfly ! 

But on such scentless leaves as these 
The worthy bee ne'er dwells, 

Nor seeks for gaudy tints to please, 
But sweets within the cells ! 




THE PARTING. 

She sighed and told me to forget ; 

It chilled me like December; 
But when I saw her eyes were wet. 

They seemed to say, " Remember ! ' 

Her hand would chide me oft away, 
But spite of all caress me ; 

I said, "I'll wrestle till the day 
Except my angel bless me ! " 

I asked her, as I warmly prest, 

If she'd forget me ever ; 
She leaned her brow upon my breast. 

And said, " No, never, never ! " 

But told me of another vow ; 

It froze my heart, I started ; 
A damp chill came upon my brow ; 

It was enough ; we parted ! 



THE RAMBLE. 

u The moon shines bright ; in such a night 

Did Jessica steal from the Jew," 
And with her Love pursued her flight; 

Unthrift he was but he was true. 
" In such a night " so Fanny stole — 

Not from the Jew with rod and pelf, 
But from a father whose fond soul 

Doated upon his pretty elf. 

Nor did she from fair Venice stray, 

But left her dearly cherished home ; 
Nor far as Belmont led her way, 

But only for an hour's roam ; 
Nor was Lorenzo by her side, 

But one was near, perchance as true ; 
And when he said she was his pride, 

She slandered him — the " little shrew.' 

Along the beach their pathway leads, 
Hard by a winding, pebbly stream, 

Whose tiny billows lift their heads 
And glitter in the moon-lit beam. 

The tree-hid cot stood in the rear, 
Upon the streamlet's verdant shore ; 



THE RAMBLE. 35 

The mill that shot its high peak near, 
With busy wheel kept up its roar. 

The gems of Heaven had filled the sky, 

And sparkled in the clear blue stream, 
The gentle moon hung far on high, 

Smilino- as Love's enchanting beam. 
Her light slept sweetly " on the bank," 

" The wind did gently kiss the trees," 
The warbling wave in the distance sank, 

And music floated on the breeze ! 

They climbed the rock piled high above 

The stream, to tell the hopes and feais 
That filled the story of their love ; 

O'er them, perchance, to mingle tears. 
Gently his arm half held her form, 

Her ringlets shaded both their brows ; 
His cheek oft felt her blushes warm, 

While lips were breathing tender vows. 

She then upon the moon did gaze, 

He on her brow — a placid sky — 
'Neath which two stars shot forth their rays, 

Dearer to him than all on high. 
His locks yet on her bosom fell, 

His arm still gently bound her zone ; 
Not half as much could language tell, 

As by their mutual looks was shown ! 



36 TEE RAMBLE. 

The hour had gone, and gone, and gone, 

The moon was sinking 'hind the hill, 
The music died and the watchman's tone 

Rang " twelve o'clock, and all is well." 
(0 Time, thy scythe's unheeding swing 

Our happy moments mows too fleet ; 
Set down thy glass and rest thy wing 

When Henry and his Fanny meet !) 

He prest her not to leave his side ; 

She said she dare not longer stay, 
She feared her father's gentle chide, 

Then pointed to the fading ray. 
Unwillingly they left the scene 

Where they might never meet again ; 
They passed the Park's wide spreading green, 

Where Justice's Temple points its vane. 

Too soon the cherished home was neared, 

Its guarding walls reared high their might ; 
No sound of mirthful glee was heard, 

No pane disclosed the watchful light. 
Old Fides by the threshold lay, 

Intent and faithful to his trust ; 
He growled, but soon he leaped in play, 

Scarce knowing which to welcome first. 

And Henry strained her to his breast, 
(Ah, none but lovers taste such bliss;) 



THE RAMBLE. 



37 



His fervent lips to hers were prest; 

A watchful mother heard a kiss. 
He had fixed a little speech to say, 

But warmer language filled his eye ; 
He, faltering, tried, then turned away, 

And only said, — " Fanny, good-by ! " 




INJURED LOVE. 

He plucked the lily from its stem, 
And careless dashed it on the plain, 

Thinking, perchance, a lovelier gem 
Would grace his bosom oft again. 

But when he saw it prostrate lie, 
With no kind hand to rear and save, 

He thought a pity it should die, 
And fain would lift it from the grave. 

He raised it gently from the plain, 

And smoothed its crushed and wilted crest ; 

Alas, it would not bloom again, 
But fell and died upon his breast ! 

The flower that hath been rudely crushed 
No power can call again to bloom, 

The heart that injury has hushed 
Cannot be wakened in the tomb ! 



THE MEETING OF EYES. 

O have you not seen the meeting of eyes, 

Whose every ray was a dart, 
That, quick as the chainless lightning flies. 

Struck deep in the victim's heart? 
O have you not seen them flashing bright. 

As the sun on his heavenly way ? 
Or shedding perchance a gentler light, 

As soft as the moon-lit ray ? 

O have you not felt the meeting of eyes 

Light up the flame of the soul, 
And warm the clay as the ray of the skies 

That daring Prometheus stole ? 
O, I know a pair with dazzling rays, 

That I neither can fly nor meet; 
As the moth is charmed by the light of a blaze. 

I'm held by their magic greet ! 



THE REQUEST. 

To write for thee ? who could refuse 

To obey a wish of thine ! 
Though mine is but an humble Muse, — 

To soar was never mine ; 
Yet all were thine my pen could give, 

If poet or a sage, 
For then my name with thee would live, 

At least upon the page. 

Could I upon the hero's shield, 

Or on the scroll of Fame, 
Or high with those who sceptres wield, 

Write my poor humble name ; 
I'd spurn them for a dearer part, 

I'd seek a page more fair; 
Yes, lady, I would seek thy heart, 

And fondly write it there ! 



THE DREAM. 

Young May had spread out her lap of flowers, 
And crowned the old oaken hill ; 

The birds were singing in scented bowers 
That hung o'er the murmuring rill. 

I rambled far o'er the flowery plain, 

And clambered a rocky steep, 
Reclined me there, and the songster's strain 

Soon lulled me to gentle sleep. 

I dreamed the world was a scene of flowers 

That scented the laden air, 
And it seemed they came from heavenly bow- 
ers, 

For earth could have none so fair. 

Methought that a goddess, too, came down, 
And watched o'er my fragrant bed, 

And gathered for me a garland crown, 
And placed it upon my head. 

I felt the little fingers of pearl 

Steal over so gentle and slow, 
Entwining my locks in many a curl, 

And parting them on my brow. 



42 TEE DREAM. 

It seemed that the lips, so sweet and pure, 
Breathed close to my sleeping couch ; 

And once methought, indeed I was sure, 
That I felt their thrilling touch. 

I dreamed a tale of enchanting love, 

In a soft and wooing hour, 
And thought the goddess came from above, 

And smiled in the sylvan bower. 

Inviting indeed were the lovely charms, 

And I flew to enjoy the bliss, 
But woke, as I leaped, in my Ella's arms, 

And met her own gentle kiss ! 




THE DEATH OF ELLA. 

Death came ; she looked upon his face 
And smiled. Fast ebbed her fleeting breath 

But by her simple faith in grace, • 

She triumphed o'er the conqueror Death ! 

Each breath we counted as the last, 
I felt it go, trembling and weak ; 

Her thin white arms still held me fast, 
Her cold pale lip was on my cheek. 

Her dying accents breathed my name, 
And her last pillow was my breast ; 

She kissed me till the angels came, 
And bore her spirit to the blest ! 

Before the stern decree I bow, 

Ordered in Heaven's all-wise design ; 

She links me with the angels now, 

Why should my mourning heart repine ! 



GRIEF. 

The night is o'er the skies, 
All nature's gone to rest, 

Save these sad weary eyes 
That shed their tears unblest. 

'Tis morn, and still I weep, 
Here on my lonely bed ; 

Still, still I do not sleep, 

My peace and love have fled. 

The noontide's burning beam, 
That lifts the sea on high, 

And parches earth and stream, 
Cannot these eyelids dry. 

The fount that never dries 
Wears e'en the granite peak, 

So tears that drown these eyes 
Have worn away my cheek. 

Nor morn, nor noon, nor night, 
Can dry away this grief, 

Nor Time's eternal flight 
Bring to this heart relief! 



DESPAIR. 

Of all that earth could give, bereft, 

I'm joyless night and day ; 
No love — no aim — no object left 

To cheer my weary way. 

Ah, once I thought to carve a name 

Among the noble free, 
But now the brightest wreath of Fame 

Can bring no charm to me. 

The praise of friends — the blame of foes, 

Alike now pass me by, 
No hate for these — no love for those, 

For neither, smile nor sigh. 

The stricken tree, though it may stand, 

Has but a lifeless doom ; 
The dying flower in sunniest land 

Has no returning bloom ! 

Now I am like the dying flower, 

Or like the stricken tree, 
The summer — winter — sun and shower, 

Are all alike to me ! 



ELLA'S GRAVP1 

There with her little pledge doth lie, 
Deep mouldering in the silent urn, 

The one who stole my heart away, 
But gave her own, — a fond return. 

Rest, dearest, rest; while I, alone, 
Shall go, perchance, upon the wave, 

But on my heart as on the stone, 
Shall live the spot of Ella's grave. 




THE WRECK. 

Though love may die, and friends may flee, 
And tears may flow without a check, 

There's something still on mem'r'ys sea 
To cling to, though it be a wreck. 

Thus like the ship-boy lone I stand 
Upon the wreck without a tie ; 

The tempest driving to the strand, 
Where I shall soon sink down to die. 

My dirge — the lashing of the wave, 
My symphony — the sea-bird's scream, 

The broad, deep sea, my nameless grave, 
Eternity my spirit's dream ! 



THE TOMB. 

See yonder near that drooping willow, 

Whose branches wave above the stream, 
And stoop to kiss the tiny billow 

That glitters in the moon-lit beam, — 
There, where the wild-rose blooms alone, 

A little heap doth rise, 
And there, beneath a simple stone, 

The dust of Ella lies. 

Though Henry never breathes her name, 

And no one sees his bosom move ; 
And when he hears the world's apt blame 

He never stops to tell his love : 
Yet do they know his inmost heart ? 

And are they sure 'tis cold? 
May not the bosom bear a smart 

Too tender to be told ? 

Though Henry smiles with joyous feeling, 

And no one ever hears him sigh ; 
Though Henry laughs with merry pealing, 

And none see tears within his eye ; 
Yet why, near where those branches weep, 

Doth Henry kneel alone ? 
Why wet with tears that little heap, 

And kiss that old gray stone? 



TO ONE IN HEAVEN. 

Since God has called thy spirit hence 
Where breathes thy gentle prayer ? 

Heaven is the home of innocence, 
O, thou art surely there ! 

All of thy being that could die 

Is resting now in peace ; 
Thy soul, imprisoned from the sky, 

Has found its sweet release ! 

Though Death has touched thee with his power, 

He can not change my love, 
For on the earth thou wert my flower, 

And now, my star above ! 

And there, to thee, trembling and true, 

My heart still points afar, 
As points the faithful magnet to 

Its bright abiding star! 

My soul can see thee in the skies, 

A being pure and bright 
Amid the angels, clothed in dyes 

Of everlasting light ! 
4 



50 TO ONE IN HEAVEN. 

In visions bright to thee I fly, 
And fain with thee would stay; 

But where thou livest in the sky 
I cannot take this clay! 

I'm weary of life's lonely road 
Since thou art gone from me ; 

I long to leave this sad abode 
That I may go to thee ! 

And though I wander here alone, 
My heart should not complain ; 

I should not weep since thou art gone, 
My loss has been thy gain ! 

With all my grief I would not have 

Thee come again to me, 
But I would lay me in the grave 

To be again with thee ! 

On earth I'll watch thy sacred dust, 
My heart's best, dearest care ; 

In heaven with thee I '11 put my trust 
Oh, guide my spirit there ! 



THE DOVE. 

Lorn dove that mourns a buried mate, 

Cooing from yonder tree, 
Lamenting o'er thy cruel fate, — 

Come here and mourn with me. 

No heeding ear lists to thy moan. 

Then tell thy tale to me; 
I, too, am left to mourn alone, 

Let me tell mine to thee. 




THE DEAD FLOWER. 

The fairest flower can least withstand 

The chill of winter's blast; 
'Tis born to grace a sunnier land, 

Too tender here to last. 

The flower upon the mountain's crest, 

By storms is soonest riven, 
Because it far o'erpeers the rest, 

And stands the nearest heaven ! 

So Ella was my bosom's flower ; 

I guarded her with care, 
And nursed her in my heart's own bower 

But ah, she was too fair! 

Yet there the withered plant is still, 

And there shall e'er remain ; 
And when my thoughts recall her smile, 

It seems to live again. 

Pale stalk ! sad relic of her bloom 

That faded in an hour ; 
Dearer to me in leafless doom 

Than any living flower ! 



THE BROKEN HEART. 

I tread this world alone, 
Without one cherished tie ; 

All that was dear is gone, — 
Kind Heaven, let me die ! 

I find no solace here, 
I do not wish to stay; 

'Twere better far to share 

My heart with senseless clay ! 

Naught seeks my lone abode 
But penury and wrong, 

Still adding to the load 

My heart hath borne so long ! 

The deer to shun the hounds, 
Will to his covert fly ; 

The bird the arrow wounds 
Steals off to hide and die ! 

So let my bosom rest 

From wrongs it cannot brave ; 
Its refuge — last, and best, 

And only — is the grave ! 



SINCE ELLA IS GONE FROM ME. 

The sky now ever is clouded, 

And desolate seems the lea ; 
The earth now in mourning is shrouded, 

Since Ella is gone from me. 

No more the bower is shaded, 

The leaves are all dead on the tree ; 

The flowers that I loved are all faded, 
Since Ella is gone from me. 

Where Love once warbled his vesper, 
And bade the sad moments to flee, 

The winds now moanfully whisper, 
That Ella is gone from me. 

My harp is unstrung on the willow, 
And mournfully sighs to the tree ; 

Repose has now fled from my pillow, 
Since Ella is gone from me. 

My pathway is lonesome and dreary, 
I shun the gay banquet of glee ; 

My heart is o'erladen and weary, 
Since Ella is gone from me. 



SINCE ELLA IS GONE FROM ME. 



55 



The things that once were so cherished, 
Are lost like a wreck on the sea ; 

E'en hope in my bosom has perished, 
Since Ella is £one f rom me j 




MY BURIED BRIDE. 

They asked me to forget the bride 
That my young heart had loved, 

Who clung so fondly to my side, 
And ever kind had proved. 

The one whose smiles could chase the cloud 

That care hung o'er my brow ; 
One who for me had spurned the proud, 

And listened to my vow. 

The one who smoothed life's rugged path, 

And loved me to the last, 
For when within the grasp of Death, 

Still, still she held me fast. 

Her love was constant as the flow 

Of waters to the sea ; 
Her earliest sigh and latest vow 

Were fondly breathed for me ! 

Her bosom was my heart's sweet rest, 

Her love the sweetest thing 
I ever took unto my breast ; 

Still, still I feel its clins ! 



MY BURIED BRIDE. 57 

And yet I clasp her in my dreams, 

Forgetting that she's gone, 
But ah, too soon the morning beams, 

And I awake, — alone ! 

They tell me now of roving love, 

And all its wicked joy, 
But Ella's eye looks from above 

To guide her lonely boy ! 

Till yonder star witholds its ray 

That eye shall be my guide ; 
And when the sun shall pass away, 

Then I'll forget my bride ! 




THE LOVED ONE. 

She was the vision of my youth, 

My dream of happiness ; 
Sweet shrine of purity and truth, 

My joy, my hope, my bliss ! 

A gentle being with a soul 
That overflowed with love ; 

A breast o'er which a wish ne'er stole 
That Heaven would disapprove ! 

Her fair and pensive brow was pale, 

And as the ether clear; 
Her thoughts could never tell a tale 

But you could read it there ! 

Her golden ringlets like a nest 
Embraced her lovely brow, 

And, falling, flashed upon her breast 
Like sunbeams on the snow ! 

Her eyes were soft and yet as bright 
As stars that light the even ; 

They beamed serenely with a light 
That seemed to come from heaven ! 



THE LOVED ONE. 59 

Her cheeks were soft as evening's flush, 

And owned the ruddy tide, 
For when I praised her she would blush, 

And fain their beauties hide ! 

Her bosom argued with the snow 

That drifts upon the knoll ; 
'Twas warm with sentiments that glow 

And touch the generous soul ! 

Her accents like sweet music fell 

Upon the listening ear, 
And most on goodness loved to dwell 

Where pity claimed the tear ! 

The lips that owned her gentle vows 

In fervency of youth, 
Were sweet as founts where nectar flows ; 

They were the spring of truth ! 

Like fragrant zephyrs of the eve, 

That o'er the flowers move, 
Her presence such a sweetness gave 

It filled the heart with love ! 

These clustering beauties sweetly vied, 

Like jewels in a crown, 
Around which countless graces hied, 

All blending into one ! 



THE LOVED ONE. 



She was the vision of my youth, 
My dream of happiness ; 

Sweet shrine of purity and truth, 
My joy, my hope, my bliss ! 




DEATH OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 

Great God ! old Death has done the deed ! 

Ah! see those cheeks how pale — how wan, 
And see that patient bosom bleed ; 

Beautiful as the dying swan ! 

She sings of angels, peace, and rest, 
As fainter grows her fleeting breath ; 

Still like the swan with bleeding crest, 
Her sweetest song is sung in death ! 




THOUGHT. 

O magic Thought, with boundless power, 

Thy wings can soar afar, 
For thou canst stoop to kiss the flower, 

Or mount and touch the star! 

Yes, thou canst cleave the upper clouds, 

Or cross the dashing wave ; 
Dispel the darkness that enshrouds 

And look into the grave. 

And thou canst pierce the hardest rock, 
As though in twain 'twere riven, 

Though 'twould defy the lightning's shock, 
Hurled from the vault of heaven. 

Thou seest throughout created things, 

Alike a world or mite, 
And even the spirit's viewless wings 

Cannot escape thy sight. 

Into the past thou goest free, 

The loved and lost to meet; 
Angels and spirits come to thee, 

And hold a converse sweet. 



THOUGHT. 

The boundless present all is thine, 
The earth — the air — the sea ; 

And thou the future canst divine, 
As if by prophecy. 

Thus thou canst range the course of time, 

Future and past unite, 
And measure the profound, sublime, 

Chainless and infinite ! 

O, thou canst scale the universe, 

Reaching beyond the sky; 
And through the mighty heavens pierce, 

And grasp eternity. 



1 



SPRING. 

Sweet Spring, though gayest of the year, 

But yet to me most sad, 
The sweetest flower e'er thou didst bear, 

Then in the tomb was laid. 

Thy leaves remind me of her bloom, 
Thy flowers her cheeks recall ; 

And, too, they tell me of her tomb, 
As one by one they fall. 

Ah, Spring, thou gavest to me my flower, 

But gave to take away ; 
Thus thou hast been my happiest hour, 

But now my saddest day ! 



LIFE. 

A child has birth ; 

A boy 's at play ; 
A man goes forth, 

His locks are gray ; 
A heap of earth, 

And he has passed away ! 




IMMORTALITY. 

Man's spirit is a restless thing, 

And fain would be away ; 
Like some ca^ed bird with constant wing 

It beats its wall of clay ! 

'Tis not at home ; it cannot be 

It ends with this dull clod; 
No, while it struggles to be free, 

It points away to God ! 

When Death this breathing dust shall change. 

And leave the spirit free, 
Infinity shall be its range, 

Its years, eternity ! 



THE WANDERER. 

There is no heart to love me now ; 
Alone and sad I wander here, 
I have no friend to dry the tear ; 

There is no heart to love me now. 

There is no heart to love me now; 
My sister sleeps beneath the stone, 
My father, mother, all are gone ; 

There is no heart to love me now. 

There is no heart to love me now ; 
My brother died — he was my shield, 
One dearer still sleeps on the field ; 

There is no heart to love me now. 

There is no heart to love me now; 
Now all is gone that earth can give, 
I would not — O, I would not live ; 

There is no heart to love me now ! 



TIME'S SOLILOQUY. 

I watch proud nations rise in their power, 
And build up their towers tall, 

That sink as the ant-hill in a shower; 
For thus the world's glories fall ! 

I watch the earth where the nations tread, 
And live and move on her breast, 

Then look in her bosom and see the dead, 
And learn where all life must rest. 

I watch the sea, with her heaving wave, 
And her thousand sails so fair, 

And know that the sea is, too, the grave 
Of more than are floating there. 

I watch the sun in his high career, 
As he sends the earth his light, 

And think, as his glories disappear, 
So all must fade that is bright. 

I watch the moon in her ether sea, 
As she floats so calm and clear, 

And think as she sinks behind the tree, 
That all must thus disappear. 



TIME'S SOLILOQUY. 69 

I watch the stars as they come and go, 
Like the leaves of the forest land ; 

And as I gaze I am taught to know- 
That naught can my touch withstand. 

I watch all things that are seen below, 

And they tell me only this, — 
That man to some other sphere must go, 

If his spirit hopes for bliss ! 




THE END OF TIME. 

The sun is wrecked and sunk behind the 
cloud, 
The blood-like moon is drowned beneath 
the sea ; 
The scroll is wrapping the heavens in their 
shroud, 
The elements are struggling to be free ! 

See the quick lightning blazing in the sky ! 

Hear the deep thunder rend the heavens in 
twain ! 
Nature herself yields up the ghost to die, — 

Order's dethroned and chaos rules again ! 

Time plies the torch ; behold the bursting 
flame 

In rolling columns through the clouds arise ; 
Matter sinks back to nothing, whence it came, 

And spirit soars to find its native skies ! 



PHILOSOPHY. 

Talk not of proud philosophy 

To cure a broken heart ; 
It only shows its destiny, 

But cannot heal the smart. 

One single joy it cannot bring, 

Nor take away a care; 
But serves to plainer show the sting, 

Condemning us to bear. 

Its stately precepts only chill 
And mock the yearning breast; 

The longing heart it cannot fill, 
Nor give the bosom rest. 

Perchance it lifts us o'er life's care, 

That often will annoy ; 
Yet while we're proudly standing there, 

We're far below its joy. 

It e'en would bid us not to love, 
And friendship's claim denies ; 

And opes its ample page to prove 
There's naught in kindred ties. 



72 PHILOSOPHY. 

Hope, the sweet soother of the breast, 

The wretch's latest stay, 
It frightens from her downy nest, 

And drives her far away. 

It does not fix our hope above, 
Nor teach us how to die; 

It cannot see the gentle Dove 
Descending from the sky. 




HOPE. 

Come, gentle Hope, with pleasing mask, 
Come, bid these sad emotions cease ; 

For happiness I do not ask, 
Ah, no ; I only beg for peace ! 

O, come and make me still believe 
That thy sweet promises are true, 

Thou only friend that can deceive 
And win our confidence anew. 

But show no more thy dazzling light, 
Come beaming with a softer ray ; 

I would not ask a star too bright, 

But one whose light leads not astray ! 

Thou canst not make my pathway bright, 
But let thy rays not all depart; 

Let the soft tints of thy sweet light 
Still fall upon and cheer my heart. 

Thou canst not chase these clouds away, 
But thou mayst touch them with thy light, 

E'en as the distant twinkling ray 

May break the dreary gloom of night. 



74 HOPE. 

I know thou canst not heal my grief, 

But thou mayst gently soothe my breast ; 

Thou canst not bring my soul relief, 
But come and point it to its rest. 

And while I grope through life's dark way, 
Lend thy sweet light ; and when I die, 

O, bless me with thy brightest ray — 
The Hope of Immortality ! 




THOUGHT, SOUL, AND HEART. 

Who can a single thought control, 

Or hold it at his will ; 
Or who can chain the restless soul, 

And say " Thou shalt be still ? " 
As well go catch the sun-lit ray, 

And say it shall not shine ; 
Or seize Old Time and bid him stay, 

Or Ocean's swell confine ! 

And who can check the yearning heart, 

And bid it not to love, 
Or keep congenial souls apart, 

Joined by the Hand above ? 
Ah, go and stop the heaving tide, 

When dashing in its might ; 
Or go, its mingled wave divide, 

And bid it not unite ! 



SOUL. 

Mr soul shall ever mount on high, 

As chainless as the wind ; 
And nothing in the earth or sky 

One daring thought shall bind ! 

It never shall be stained by gold, 

To steel it shall not cower ; 
Truth, Justice, Worth, it shall uphold, 

Though Earth and Hell should lower ! 

It shall not sink in dallying charms, 

Nor bend to Power's rod ; 
It shall not shrink from Death's cold arms, 

It bows alone to God ! 



TIME AND THE BEAUTY. 

" Away, Old Time ! let not thy finger 
Disturb a lock upon my brow ; 

And on my cheek thou must not linger, 
I cannot spare its roseate glow. 

" Dim not the eye that beams so brightly - 
That lustre to the star can lend ; 

Check not the foot that steps so lightly ; 
This graceful form thou must not bend. 

" Why art thou ever busy dating 

The days and years that pass away? 

For me thou need'st not stand in waiting, 
Go on thy course, but let me stay." 

Time heard her wish, but did not heed it, 
And only deigned this brief reply, 

His scythe still swinging as he said it, — 
" All things must go with me, or die ! " 



SWEET MEMORIES OF THEE. 

When Spring returns each passing year, 
The winds come o'er the lea, 

And gently whisper to my ear 
Sweet memories of thee. 

And Zephyr, with ambrosial wings, 

Laden from flower and tree, 
Comes to my lone retreat, and brings 

Sweet memories of thee. 

The rill's soft purling by the brake, 

The murmur of the bee, 
And songs of joyous birds awake 

Sweet memories of thee. 

A bird, a flower, a gem, a star, 

As with a golden key, 
In silence from my heart unbar 

Sweet memories of thee. 

A joy, a hope, a happy hour, 

A thrill of harmony, 
Stir in my soul with magic power, 

Sweet memories of thee. 



SWEET MEMORIES OF THEE. 79 

And sweet emotions of the breast, 

When the full heart is free, 
Awake, too deep to be expressed, 

Sweet memories of thee. 

In pleasing dreams, that bless my couch, 

Fair beings come to me, 
And as with wands, they gently touch 

Sweet memories of thee. 

All beings beautiful and bright, 

And joyous, pure, and free, 
All things that charm and give delight, 

Are memories of thee. 




BEAUTY. 

She seemed a Goddess from the blest 

Descended, with a raven cloud 
Of ringlets, falling o'er a breast 

Their richness could but half enshroud. 

Her robe was woven of the light, 

Through which her form so sweetly shone, 
That all was beautiful and bright 

As a soft cloud upon the moon. 

Her bosom seemed like snow unpress'd, 
Just newly fallen on the mead ; 

The vestment o'er her swelling breast 
Seemed proud of what it scarcely hid. 

Her lips were like the buds of spring 
Bursting apart their sweets to show ; 

Her cheeks like open flowers that bring 
A more subdued but sweeter glow. 

Her brow ! ah, what was like her brow 

Enveloped in its veiny skin, 
Transparent as the ether's glow, 

Too pure to hide the thought within ! 



BEAUTY. 81 

Her eyes ! ah, what were like her eyes ! 

Their match to earth was never given ; 
They, like the stars of dewy skies, 

Were fitly made to shine in heaven ! 

And yet 'twas not her eyes, nor face, 
Alone that charmed, but all combined, 

Blended in one exquisite grace, 

Made radiant by a heavenly mind ! 




LOVE AND DAMON. 

Reclining on a bank of flowers 

A youthful maiden lay ; 
She heeded not the golden hours 

That lightly flew away. 
Young Damon brought a rosy boy, 

As gentle as a dove ; 
His melting eye was full of joy, 

And Damon called him Love. 

He had a soft and downy wing, 

And bore a little dart; 
The maiden felt a pleasing sting — 

He touched it to her heart. 
Waving a poppy o'er her head, 

Love bade her not to weep ; \ 
It was a soft delicious bed, — 

The maiden fell asleep. 

Her busy heart beat fond and warm, 
Her soul was sweetly moved ; 

The maiden never thought of harm, 
She only knew she loved. 

Happy, she dreamed of lovely things, 
A joy was in her heart, 



LOVE AND DAMON. 8"> 

But Damon stole Love's downy wings 
And left her but the dart. 

She woke and wished she had not slept, 

For Love had left a pain ; 
She blamed him, then forgave and wept, 

And yet forgave again ! 
But faded now are all the flowers, 

Their scentless leaves are dead, 
And slowly creep the heavy hours 

Since Love and Damon fled ! 




COME Wr ME IN THE GLOAMIN' 

Come wi' me in the gloamin', 
And gar my sorrows cease, 

For love my heart's cousumin'; 
Come gie your Willie peace ! 

Come wi' me in the gloamin' — 

The burnin' sun is doon, 
The bonnie moon is comin', 

The sternies blink aboon. 

Come wi' me in the gloamin' — 

The dew is on the lea; 
The lint is sweetly bloomin' 

Hard by the birken tree. 

Come wi' me in the gloamin', 
Beneath the spreadin' tree, 

Where flowers are sweetly bloomin', 
But nane sae sweet as thee. 

Come wi' me in the gloamin', 

Ayont the grassy feal, 
Where lambies gang a roamin' 

Wi' shepherds true and leal. 



COME WV ME IN THE GLOAMIN \ 85 

Come wi' me in the gloamin' — 

Ilk thing is free and glad ; 
E'en flowers are happy bloomin', 

But Willie's heart is sad. 

Come wi' me in the gloamin' — 
Ilk thing has peace but me ; 

Here lanely I'm a roamin' 
Wi' dim and droukit e'e. 

Come wi' me in the gloamin', 

And gar my sorrows cease, 
For love my heart's consumin' ; 

Come gie your Willie peace ! 




THE KNIGHT'S LOVE. 

The day is gone to the cave, 
The night is over the lea, 

All sleep but the streamlet's wave, 
And now I am off to thee. 

I come on my charger fleet, 

That bounds like a dashing sea ; 

Though thick be the dangers I meet, 
I come, for a moment with thee. 

The moon with her silver light 
Hangs high o'er the eastern tree, 

And the stars are laughing bright, 
To show me the way to thee ; 

And the wind can tell no tale, 
Though it whispers to the tree ; 

And the curs that bark in the vale 
Know not that I fly to thee. 

I have come as fleet as the wind, 
And true as the homeward bee; 

O, hasten the door to unbind, 

That shuts me from love and thee. 



THE KNIGHT'S LOVE. 



87 



Now close in thy folding arms, 
Where no tell-tale eye can see, 

And safe from all rude alarms, 
A life is this moment with thee ! 




THE BIRTH OF CUPID. 

A tear-drop fell from an angel's eye, 
And lodged in the cup of a flower ; 

While trembling there 'twas embraced by a 
sigh, 
And Cupid was born in the bower ! 

Thus sprung from embraces so sweetly im- 
pressed, 
The child of a sigh and a tear, 
And reared on the sweets of a flow'ret's breast, 
Why marvel he's wayward, sweet, tender, and 
dear? 




TO A CAGED BIRD. 

The Power that did the heavens ordain, 
And gave to me eternal hope ; 

That Power spread out the land and main, 
And gave thy little wing its scope. 

Ah, yes ; those wings were made for flight 

As much as liberty for me ; 
Then who shall dare infringe the right 

That God hath vouchsafed unto thee! 



HIDDEN LOVE. 

There is many a tender love unseen, 
That close in the bosom dwells, 

As the bud conceals the flower within 
The leaves of its folding cells. 

There is many a treasured love unknown, 

That deep in the heart is laid, 
Like a vein of gold, or precious stone, 

Concealed from the miner's spade. 

There is many a struggling love untold, 

By feeling itself suppressed, 
As the trembling lips cannot unfold 

The thoughts that we love the best. 

There is many a thrilling love unsung, — 

Unheard as the spirit's wing ; 
As the song on the harp, though sweetly strung 

May sleep on the silent string. 

There is many a cherished love unbreathed, 
That dies with the faithful breast, 

Or, perchance, in dying words bequeathed, 
As the bosom sinks to rest. 



HIDDEN LOVE. 



91 



There is many a love we dare not name, 
Though purest of earthly loves ; 

There is many a love the world may blame, 
That Heaven itself approves ! 




LOVE AND WISDOM. 

When hearts are giving sigh for sigh, 

And pouring out their treasure, 
When the fond breast is beating high 

With Love's delicious pleasure ; 
O why should Wisdom ever come 

To cast a shade o'er feeling, 
O why should Wisdom ever come, 

Life's sweetest pleasure stealing ? 

When lip to lip is warmly press'd, 

And heart to heart is leaning, 
Feeling what cannot be expressed, 

Though Love divines the meaning; 
O why should Wisdom ever come 

To cast a shade o'er feeling, 
O why should Wisdom ever come, 

Life's sweetest pleasure stealing? 

We cannot love and still be wise, — 
This truth is past concealing; 

Wisdom must see, — Love has no eyes, 
But trusts alone to feeling. 

Then why should Wisdom ever come 
To cast a shade o'er feeling, 



LOVE AND WISDOM. 93 

O why should Wisdom ever come, 
Life's sweetest pleasure stealing? 

If Wisdom, then, casts Love away, 

As fruit discards the blossom, 
O, take old Wisdom, let Love stay, 

He's dearer to my bosom ; 
For why should Wisdom ever come 

To cast a shade o'er feeling, 
O why should Wisdom ever come 

Life's sweetest pleasure stealing! 




THIS I KNOW, I LOVE THEE. 

I know not how thy heart doth feel, 
When warmly I am pressing, 

When every look with fond appeal 
Implores thee for a blessing ; 

Yet this I know, I love thee ! 

I do not know what thou dost think, 

But love is no illusion ; 
Though from thine eyes so deep I drink 

That all is sweet confusion, 
Yet this I know, I love thee ! 



THE SWEET SECRET. 

Along with mine, thy heart and name 

Now dare not be entwined : 
But still may not my fancy dream 

That thou art not unkind ? 

T would not seek nor covet aught 

That duty asks of thee ; 
I would not claim a single thought 

That should not come to me ! 

And shouldst thou have one thought of him 

In silence let it rest, 
Nor ever let thine own heart dream 

What lives within thy breast ! 

His breast its love shall ne'er impart, 
Nor tongue that love declare ; 

No, the sweet secret of his heart 
Shall live and perish there ! 



THE BROKEN PLEDGE. 

He wore her ringlet on his breast 
The plighted troth to prove ; 

And many a kiss had been impress'd 
Upon that pledge of love. 

He held it as a sacred trust 

To ever be possessed, 
And vowed that with his mingling dust 

That little lock should rest! 

It was the pledge of faith she gave, 
As lips confessed the plight ; 

And was a charm, on field or wave, 
To keep his honor bright ! 

She knew his noble heart was pure, 

It shone upon his brow ; 
And thinking still his love secure, 

She trifled with her vow ! 

His eye was dimmed, and then it flashed 

To dry the minion tear ; 
He gazed upon the pledge, then dashed 

It to the passing air ! 



THE BROKEN PLEDGE. 97 

He sought the field where laurels wave, — 

Where noble deeds are done, 
And there, the foremost of the brave, 

The brightest crown he won ! 

Now eloquence, with melting tongue, 

Breathes in his words of fire ; 
And foremost with the sons of song, 

He strikes the thrilling lyre! 




WEDLOCK. 

Fond tie that binds two willing hands 
With hearts already joined in love; 

The union Heaven itself commands, 
And God and Angels all approve ! 

How pure the joy, the charm how sweet, 

The ecstacy almost divine ; 
How dear the tie, the bliss complete, 

Where virtue, truth, and love entwine ! 




'TIS HEAVEN, 'TIS ONLY HEAVEN. 

When every joy of life is flown, 

And heart and soul are pierced with grief; 
When health, and peace, and hope are gone, 

O, what but death can bring relief? 
When friendship brings us injury, 

And love severest pain, 
Where shall the wounded bosom fly, 

To fix its hope again ? 

" The bleeding sufferer begs to die, 

E'en love's sweet prayer implores the doom. 
And gentle pity can but sigh 

To drop a tear upon the tomb." 
What balm can cure the wounded breast, 

Or heal the heart thus riven ; 
What give the weary spirit rest? 

'Tis Heaven, 'tis only Heaven ! 



UNWEDDED LOVE. 

That cheek I've seen thee hide, 

As close I'd press ; 
And oft I've heard thee chide, 

But still caress ! 

I've seen those soft cheeks blush 

At whispered bliss, 
I've bid those warm lips hush 

With many a kiss ! 

The place upon my brow 

Thy lips caressed, 
Shall only, by my vow, 

By thee be press'd ! 

The zephyr has no breath 

Sweet as that kiss, 
Fame's chaplet has no wreath 

That brings such bliss ! 

Thy love shall be my light, 

My heart's own life, 
To make my pathway bright 

Through darkest strife ! 



UN WEDDED LOVE. 101 

O, let that beacon shine 

When I'm afar, — 
If never to be mine, 

To be my star! 

Though fate has bid us part, 

My blood flows on 
To warm this throbbing heart 

For thee alone ! 

Take all I have to give — 

My soul, my breath — 
Thine only, while I live, 

And thine in death ! 




THE RECONCILIATION. 

Love whispers that nothing shall sever, 
And laughs at his past little pain ; 

His lip is now sweeter than ever, 
Since Emma is mine again. 

I've taken my harp from the willow, 
'Tis breathing its tenderest strain ; 

Repose has returned to my pillow, 
Since Emma is mine again. 

The clouds from my sky are all vanished, 
And flowers spring up on the plain ; 

The gloom of the world is all banished, 
Since Emma is mine again. 

My heart now is soaring as lightly 
As birds that the sky can attain ; 

Care touches my forehead but slightly, 
Since Emma is mine again. 

All things now as brightly are beaming 
As Sol when he kisses the main, 

Whose light on my pathway is streaming, 
Since Emma is mine again ! 



THE RECONCILIATION. 



103 



The past its reward is now bringing, 

Though once all my pleasures were slain ; 

High hopes for the future are springing, 
Since Emma is mine again ! 




THE ANGEL AND THE FLOWER. 

I saw a child — a lovely flower, 
Spring to the Summer's breath ; 

I looked again — 'twas but an hour — 
And lo, 'twas laid in death! 

I asked an angel why 'twas so — 
Why such to earth were given ? 

The angel said, "They spring below, 
But have their bloom in heaven ! " 




TO . 

1" ne'er could teach my heart to show 
That which it did not feel, 

But what it did feel, until now, 
I taught it to conceal. 

That faithful heart wilt thou receive? 

0, do not dash it by ; 
I dare not hope thou'lt bid it live, 

But do not let it die ! 



THE COQUETTE. 

A kindling passion lights her eye, 
You feel its rays are warm ; 

She weaves around the heart a tie 
That binds you like a charm ! 

Her lips so loving, all the while 

Seem asking for a kiss, 
Yet something in their very smile 

Denies the tempting bliss. 

You see her panting bosom move, 

And almost burst away, 
As if it struggled with a love 

She would not all betray. 

As timid as a tender fawn, 

All shrinking from your touch, 

She flies and yet is never gone — 
She shuns yet wins approach. 

She speaks in accents scarcely heard, 

Breathes softly as a lute, 
Decoys you like a startled bird 

Inviting your pursuit! 



THE COQUETTE. 107 

She languishes, and sighs, and weeps ; 

She sobs, and swoons at pain ; 
She dreams of love whene'er she sleeps, 

Then dreams the dream again ! 

Her glowing cheeks betray the flash 

With love's full passion fraught, 
That bids the blood in torrents dash, 

And wakes the troubled thought ! 

Her yielding form displays its charms 

And tempts you like a snare ; 
You seem to be within her arms, 

Yet something says, beware ! 

She naught denies, yet nothing gives ; 

Strange mystery to man, 
She leads him through a maze, then leaves 

Him where he first began ! 

Alas, by this perverted art 

True passion is depraved ; 
And while its ruin blights the heart, 

Virtue is scarcely saved ! 



SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

I see thee in the fleecy clouds 

That float so light and free — 

The curling mist thy form enshrouds ; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

I hear thee in the gentle showers 
That patter on the lea ; 

I see thee in the blushing flowers; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

Thy voice is in the purling rill, 
And in the lashing sea; 

I see thee hovering o'er the hill ; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

I hear thee whisper to the trees 
When Zephyr dallies free ; 

Thou comest in the storm and breeze ; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 



SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 109 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

I see thee in the little star, 

The sun is bright with thee, 

Thou shinest in the orbs afar ; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

Steal from the light and silvery fountain, 
Rise from the deep blue sea. 

Come from the distant, dusky mountain ; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

Come from the cloud, the star, the sky — 
My spirit longs for thee, 

Come from thy resting place on high ; 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 

Spirit of Beauty, come to me ; 

Fair sister of the Good and True, 
I give my soul to thee ; 

Eternal, yet forever new — 
Spirit of Beauty, come to me ! 



IMPROMPTU TO BEAUTY. 

Till now thy beauty never blest these eyes, 
Yet have I loved thee through long faith- 
ful years ; 

My soul has wandered in imagined skies 
To find the beautiful of other spheres. 

Thee have I worshipped when with fancy free 
My love has pictured its sweet wish in air. 

Nor deemed I ever, till beholding thee, 
That earth could show me one so passing 
fair ! 

Thou art the being I have clasped in dreams 
When love's sweet ecstacies have made me 
blest ; 
The one that, when imagination teems 

With burning thoughts, I hold unto my 
breast ! 

Thy dreamy eyes, so deep and fathomless, 
Have charmed my soul and captive led my 
will ; 
My fluttering bosom is confused with bliss, 
And my touched heart will never more be 
still ! 



THE MUSIC OF THE UNIVERSE. 

I hear the music of the universe, 

Pealing its anthems through the vaulted 
sky; 
The mountains and the plains of earth re- 
hearse, 
And echo back a solemn symphony. 

In harmony the ocean strikes the rock, 
An oratorio breathes in its lave ; 

There's music in the thunder's mighty shock, 
The earthquake swells the chorus from the 



The rushing cataract in solemn sounds, 
And troubled ocean, echo to the spheres; 

The planets are bright minstrels in their 
rounds 
That chant sweet music to the rolling years. 

The sighing winds sob music in the gale, 
The rustling leaf gives out its gentle song ; 

The insect's voice sends up its little peal, 
And music trembles on the bird's sweet 
tongue. 



112 THE MUSIC OF THE UNIVERSE. 

And there is harmony in beating hearts, 
All tremulous with sweet mysterious chords ; 

Love breathes a gentle music that imparts 
A meaning to the soul too deep for words. 

There comes a music to the spirit's ear: 
'Tis harmony that gives each thought its 
birth ; 

And there is music which the soul can hear. 
Unnoticed by the ear that's made of earth. 

Truth is but harmony that rules the skies, 
And bids the planets in their orbits roll ; 

Goodness and Beauty — these are harmonies, 
Breathing a music that lifts up the soul ! 

Creation joins in one eternal ode, 

Now heard in softer, now in grander keys; 
The universe is but the harp of God, 

Attuned to sing His everlasting praise ! 



THE DYING WORDS OF LITTLE 
CECILIA. 

Plant flowers by my grave, mother, 

And in the evening come, 
There where the branches wave, mother, 

To see my little tomb. 
There sweetly I shall sleep, mother, 

Beneath the leafy bowers ; 
Don't bury me too deep, mother, 

I want to see the flowers ! 

I cannot stay with you, mother, 

But you are very dear ; 
I'll go up in the blue, mother, 

And live with angels there. 
I know you will be sad, mother, 

When I am gone from thee, 
But you'll be very glad, mother, 

When you come up to me ! 



JENNY AND ROBIN. 

Ah Robin is the brawest lad 
That roves amang the heather ; 

He'd tak the heart o' ony jad, 
The warld hands na sic ither ! 

My mither says — " Aye have a care 
When laddies come a wooin' ; 

Be tentie lest they come too near, 
And min' what ye are doin'." 

She bids me let him in na mair, 

But, O, I canna lose him ; 
He taps sae sleekit at the door 

Nae lassie could refuse him. 

An' while he stays my heart's sae large, 

An' keeps up sic a beatin', 
I canna min' my mither's charge, 

Though morn should find me greetin'. 

An' when he gangs he gangs sae slee, 

He wadna wake a mousie ; 
But does not gang till mither's e'e 

Is hangin' wee bit drowsie. 



JENNY AND ROBIN. 115 

An' when he 's gaen, an' a' is still, 
Although my e'en are blinkin' 

An' I sae wearied at my wheel, 
I canna sleep for thinkin'. 

But Jenny she maun be carefu', 
Nor love her Rob too dearly; 

She maun do nothin' might undo, 
Lest she should rue it sairly ! 




THE BACHELOR'S PUZZLE. 

Ah me ; what shall I do with Love ! 

Life 's very dull without him, 
And yet he 's so inclined to rove 

I cannot help but doubt him. 

He spreads his wings and off he flies, 
If you attempt to chain him ; 

I notice, too, he droops and dies, 
The moment you detain him ! 

If you deny him what he wants, 

He soon goes raving crazy ; 
And grant him that for which he pants, 

He grows ill-shaped and lazy. 

And while he 's at his wanton play 

He is a frantic elf; 
Like one deranged, give him his way 

He soon destroys himself! 

The little precious hateful Boy 

Is but a contradiction ; 
To-day, perchance, he brings us joy, 

To-morrow sad affliction. 



THE BACHELOR'S PUZZLE. 



117 



Heigho ! what shall I do with Love ! 

He 's dear with all his foibles ; 
Without him life will joyless prove, 

And with him full of troubles ! 




LOVE. 

My heart wi' love is sairly beatin', 

And I am aye forlorn ; 
For love my weary e'en are greetin' 

Frae e'enin' till the morn. 
It is for bonny, sonsie Jean 

My waefu' heart maun break ; 
I canna tell her o' my pain, 

Love winna let me speak. 

1 jauk wi' lassies on the heather, 

And tell my tale afF han', 
And ilka lassie I can Aether, 

But canna crack wi' Jean, 
The words aye struggle i' my throat, 

And come up to my mou, 
But, somehow, winna quite come out, 

They fill my heart sae fou. 

Ah, me ; for love my heart 's a-breakin', 

I greet my life awa; 
Wi' love my breast a' through is achin', 

I hae na peace ava. 
O, what can ease my breakin' heart, 

And dry my droukit e'e, 



LOVE. 119 

And what can stap this achin' smart ? 
O, Jannie, I maun dee ! 

Neist time sweet Jannie gaes a roamin' 

Alang the burn, alane, 
I'll gang and meet her, i' the gloamin', 

And tell her a' my pain. 
And gin she canna understan', 

And winna pity me, 
I'll gang awa to some far Ian', 

And howk a grave, and dee ! 




LOVE AND THE SAGES. 

It has been said that naught we know, 
And this is proved by reason ; 

Philosophers may hold it true, 
But Love declares it treason. 

A pity 'tis, ah me, ah me, 

The Sage and Love cannot agree ! 

A Sage has also tried to prove 

This world is but a vision ; 
He reasons very well, but Love 

Denies the proposition. 
A pity 'tis, ah me, ah me, 
The Sage and Love cannot agree ! 

And yet the Sage will oft declare 

That Love is all illusion, 
But Love entraps him in his snare, 

Then laughs at his confusion. 
A pity 'tis, ah me, ah me, 
The Sage and Love cannot agree ! 

And Love declares the Sage a clown 
To teach such stuff as this is ; 

He knows a world that's all his own, 
And full of joys and blisses. 



LO\E AND TEE SAGES. 121 

A pity 'tis, ah me, ah me, 

The Sage and Love cannot agree ! 

Each still his doctrine tries to prove, 

And still the question rages ; 
While many thousands follow Love, 

And few believe the Sages! 
A pity 'tis, ah me, ah me, 
The Sage and Love cannot agree ! 




THE ENCHANTRESS. 

Sweet Enchantress of my soul, 
Thou my being dost control. 
Earth could never bow this knee, 
Yet how oft it bends to thee ; 
Tyranny this heart could brave, 
Yet to thee it is a slave ; 
Thus I serve in bondage thee, 
Wishing never to be free ! 
Triple brass could not retain 
What thy silken cords enchain ; 
Slavery thus enforced by thee 
Dearer is than liberty ! 
Though I wear a galling chain, 
It is thine — I love the pain ! 
'Prisoned I would think me free, 
If but thou shouldst hold the key ! 
Though thy frown can cleave my heart, 
One sweet smile can heal the smart ; 
Death's fell pains should I endure, 
Thy warm kiss could bring a cure ! 
Though my love 's a burning fire, 
In the flame I would expire ! 
Earth were lost without thee given, 
But with thee, 0, 'tis a heaven ! 
Sweet Tormentor, hold me fast, 
Pain and please me to the last! 



TIME AND PLEASURE. 

The Future soon becomes the present, 
The present rushes to the past ; 

And thus our days, or sad or pleasant, 
Time measures out unto the last. 

How quick the moments fill the hours, 
How soon the hours steal into years ; 

For many thorns how few the flowers, 
For one sweet smile how many tears 



JAMIE. 

Mr Jamie 's gaen frae me, my heart has gaen 
wi' him, 
My bosom is heavy while Jamie 's awa' ; 
My e'en are all droukit for they carina see 
him, 
Sweet Jamie, the brawest and bravest of a' ! 

The sun doesna shine as when Jamie is near 

me, 

There 's naething looks bright when my 

Jamie 's awa' ; 

My song is na blighfu' for he canna hear me, 

Dear Jamie, the brawest and bravest of a' ! 

The birds may sing gaily and lambies play 
cheery, 
I canna be happy when Jamie 's awa' ; 
Without my dear Jamie the world is a' 
dreary, 
For Jamie 's the brawest and bravest of a' ! 

And Jamie has promised aye truly to lo' me, 
He wept a bright tear when he started 
awa' ; 



JAMIE. 125 

My heart's a' his ain, an' na ither shall woo 
me, 
For Jamie 's the brawest and bravest of a' ! 

As true as the star where the sky is the 
bluest, 
My heart shall remain to my Jamie awa' ; 
The bravest are ever the tend'rest and 
truest, 
And Jamie 's the brawest and bravest of a' ! 

If Jamie should perish beyond the dark bil- 
low, 
My tears shall fa' down for my Jamie awa'; 
O! then they shall lay me alone by the wil- 
low, 
For Jamie, the brawest and bravest of a' . 



AMBITION AND CARE. 

Away with Ambition and Care, 

The canker and blight of the heart ; 
Give me but the True and the Fair, 

All else far away may depart. 
The selfish may struggle for fame, 

The sordid may scramble for gold, 
The daring may die for a name, — 

Their hearts at the best are but cold. 



The sage with his pale haggard look, 

And author, may labor and smart 
To write their poor names in a book, 

Let mine be impressed on a heart. 
'Tis sweeter to love than be wise, 

For sadness belongs to the sage ; 
And truth is far sweeter from eyes 

Than ever it shone on the page ! 

The king may be pleased with his power, 

The hero at victory's prize, 
The courtier may flaunt for his hour, 

And neither be happy nor wise ; 
For children at play with a toy 

Feel happiness dearer than this ; 
A hero or king may have joy, 

But only the lover knows bliss! 



THE ABSENT ONE. 

Gentle Moon, ah, canst thou tell me 

Why my lover still delays ? 
Thou, that lightest land and ocean, 

Canst thou tell me where he strays? 
Ever shine upon him sweetly, 

Give the smile I send to thee ; 
Should he gaze upon thee kindly, 

Send his fondest look to me. 

Peerless Star, that gems the azure, 

Watching with a constant light, 
Canst thou see my absent lover, 

With thy sleepless eye so bright? 
Watch him nightly, true and faithful. 

Watch him on the land and sea ; 
Watch him ever — guide his footsteps 

Till he comes again to me. 

Gentle Zephyr, ever wandering, 
Findest thou my lover true ? 

Canst thou breathe to him a whisper ? 
Will he whisper back to you ? 

Zephyr, bear my sigh uuto him, 
Let him give a kiss to thee; 



128 



THE ABSENT ONE. 



Haste, return and bring the treasure — 
Give that precious kiss to me ! 

Blow, ye winds, and waft him to me ; 

Roll, ye waves, and bear him on ; 
Fly, ye trains, as swift as arrows, 

Bring the loved, the absent one. 
Light him, gentle Moon, unto me ; 

Watch him, Star, on land and sea; 
Guide him, Heaven, along his pathway, 

Bring him safely home to me. 




MODESTY. 

The sweetest flower of all that grows, 
Most delicate that decks the field ; 

Where'er she blooms no rude wind blows ; 
Her very sweetness is her shield ! 

Protected by the guardian power 
That conscious virtue gives to all, 

Her charms peer out like some sweet flower 
Safely inclosed within a wall. 

She's like the plant that shows its sweets, 
And yet would not invite approach — 

All sensitive to what it meets, 

And shrinking from the slightest touch ! 

Or like the flower, so pure and bright, 
That shuts its beauties from the glare 

Of open day's too prying light, 

Then sweetly opes them to the star. 

Her cheek of flowers, and breast of snow, 
To charm us on the earth are given ; 

Her starry eye and sunny brow 

Awake our purer thoughts for Heaven ! 
9 



THE OLD PIONEER. 

O, wheke are the brave ones 

Who frown upon wrong? 
I sing of a hero ; 

Let them list to my song. 
And fair ones come listen 

To " The Old Pioneer ; " 
Thy soft eyes may glisten 

More bright for a tear ! 

Wrongs had bent the old man, 

And he left his own sky, 
Fled far to the forest, 

There lonely to die. 
Like a hermit he dwelt; 

And the Old Pioneer 
Thus poured out his heart 

To his pretty pet deer : — 

" Though the thick-tangled forest 
Still owns thee her child ; 

Though thou rangest the mountain 
And lovest the wild ; 

Yet come to my cabin, 
My own pretty deer, 



THE OLD PIONEER. 131 

I'll ope the door daily, 
And give thee my cheer. 

u If the wild wolf should race thee, 

Thou knowest thy home ; 
If the huntsman should chase thee, 

Then come to me, come. 
Thy proud neck, so towering, 

The wolf shall not stifle ; 
Thy heart is too noble 

A mark for the rifle ! 

" I'll stand thy protector, 

And banish alarm : 
I'll bare my own bosom, 

To save thee from harm ; 
For thou ownest my friendship, 

Though lowly my station ; 
Than man thou art nobler, 

Though lord of creation ! 

" Then come to me, pet one, 

Where thou lov'st to linger, 
And bend thy young antler 

To twine with my finger. 
Now away to the mountain, 

Go, speed thee in flight, 
Feed all day by the fountain, 

But come home at night." 



132 THE OLD PIONEER. 

And away flew his deer, 

As fleet as the wind, 
To feed by the fountain, 

And play with his kind ; 
For there, on the mountain, 

In droves they did roam ; 
Though he loved there to range, 

He forgot not his home. 



'Tis but noon, and he comes 

From the hill where he feeds 
His proud neck is drooping, 

He falters — he bleeds ! 
Yes, his feet are all stained 

With his innocent blood, 
That from his warm heart 

Gushes out in a flood ! 

The huntsman's keen rifle 

Had pierced the red tide ; 
He fled to his master, 

And fell by his side. 
The valiant old soldier, 

Who never knew fear, 
But smiled oft at danger, 

There wept o'er his deer. 

He seized his old rifle, 

His companion through life, 



THE OLD PIONEER. 133 

That guarded his country 

Through many a strife ; 
And sought the deep wildwood, 

His own native home, 
In pursuit of his quarry, 

Again there to roam ! 

But his footsteps were feeble, 

His eye dimly shone, 
His good arm was palsied, 

His strength was all gone. 
He raised that old rifle, 

To poise it he tried ; 
His aged limbs faltered — 

He fell there and died ! 

The old clog, so faithful, 

His best friend, and last, 
Stood o'er his dead master, 

And howled to the blast. 
Though food was hard by him 

No more would he eat ; 
But guarded his charge 

Till he died at his feet! 

Thus perished a hero, 

The noble — the brave, 
Who a proud State had founded, 

Yet had not a grave ! 



134 



THE OLD PIONEER. 



The forest his temple, 

The bright sky his dome, 

His clog the lone mourner, 
The broad earth his tomb ! 




MARY. 

Locks there are, perchance, more raven, 
But no such ringlets stream ; 

Lashes may be darker even, 
Nor shade so sweet a beam. 

Brows there may be finer, whiter, 

Nor own the genial flush ; 
Cheeks there may be even brighter, 

But none so sweetly blush ! 

Lips, perchance, there may be rarer, 
But none such sweets impart; 

Bosoms may be even fairer, 
And not hold Mary's heart ! 



THE SIGH AND TEAR. 

'Tis sweet to hear the timid sigh 

Fly tremblingly away, 
Or see the tear-drop fill the eye, 

Lending a brighter ray ; 

But sweeter still to hear that sigh 

Fly from the lips we love, 
And know the drop that fills the eye 

Is pure as gems above ! 

These more than strongest words can tell, 
Or boldest tongues can swear ; 

Falsehood in vows will ever dwell, 
Truth in the sigh and tear ! 



0, STAY. 

0, stay; for it will grieve me 

If thou shouldst go away ; 
How canst thou, clearest, leave me? 

O, stay; O, stay. 

And would'st thou leave thy lone one, 

Amid the world to go ? 
And can she spare her own one ? 

0, no; 0, no. 

Then dear one, stay, stay near me ; 

I would not go from thee ; 
O, stay ; 'twill so endear thee 

To me ; to me. 

Hear, hear the love I'm telling ; 

How canst thou go away ? 
See, see my bosom swelling; 

O, stay ; O, stay. 



NETTIE. 

Nettie for years had woven a chain 

Around this heart of mine, 
And tied it o'er and o'er again, 

As Gordius did his line. 

'Twas sealed by many a rapturous vow, 

Only to lovers known ; 
But, ah, her fair and haughty brow, 

Unbound it with a frown. 

Ambitious as the king of yore, 
She conquered many a host ; 

But, grasping still to conquer more, 
What she had conquered, lost ! 



GO. 

Go, like the never-returning dove, 

Far, far o'er the troubled wave ; 
Let not even the spirit of love 

Know where thou makest thy grave. 
Yes, dearest one — only one, go ; 

I must not now dream of thee even 
All, all I would ask is to know 

The ark of thy spirit is heaven ! 




THE FORSAKEN. 

I think of Jamie at my rockin', 
And canna min' my spinnin' ; 

Ah, me; when will he throw the stockin' 
I fear I've been a sinnin' ! 

He hoyt sa winnin' wi* his kiss, 
And prest sa warm a wooin', 

I was too happy wi' the bliss . 
To ken what I was doin' ! 

My heart was fu', and a' his ain, 

And nestled couthie to him ; 
It wasna kind to gie me pain, 

But, weal or wo, I lo'e him! 

Now lasses geek at me unkin', 
And turn disdainfu' frae me ; 

They ken not o' sic love as mine, 
Wi' sic' a lad as Jamie ! 

It canna be that Jamie's fause, 

0, gin he were to lea' me ; 
He ken ilk day I maun grow worse, 

Yet winna come to see me ! 



THE FORSAKEN. 



41 



What sal I do ; wae 's me, wae 's me ! 

It's gangin' wrangly wi' me ; 
I canna live, I maunna dee ; 

God, God, forgie me ! 




A^ 



PEGGY'S COOT. 

Ae e'enin' at the gloamin' 

As I was gangin' by, 
I sklented by the loanin', 

Where Peggy milks the kye. 

I stopped abeigh and glinted, 
A stan'in' hafflins bowt; 

Her gown a wee was kilted ; 
I saw her bonny coot ! 

My heart gaed in a flitter, 

Amaist it loupet out ; 
A' ower it gart me chitter ; 

O, sic a bonny coot ! 

I peched lik ane a sobbin', 
And watered in my mou' ; 

My bluid rin het a throbbin', 
And gart me burn a' through ! 

O, Peggy's bonny coot, 
Sa neat, sa sma', sa feel ; 

Waesucks ! it winna let 

This heart of mine be still ! 



THE SPIRIT'S VISIT. 

A Spirit once left its native sky, 

The place of its heavenly birth, 
And spread out its noiseless wings to fly, 

Down, down to this lower earth. 

In the distance far a little speck 

Enveloped in clouds it espied, 
Careering in space, as the broken wreck 

Is tossed on the heaving tide. 

It lighted clown in a sylvan wood 

That skirted a flowery lawn; 
The scene was fair — but there was the blood 

Where the tiger had torn the fawn. 

And soon the wolf from his covert came, 
The place where he fain would hide, 

And sprang on the snowy, harmless lamb ; 
All helpless it bowed and died. 

" I will rise," said the Spirit, " and fly away 
Where man has subdued the field, 

Where the sceptre of justice has its sway, 
And virtue and peace their shield." 



144 THE SPIRIT'S VISIT. 

But there was the tyrant forging the chain 

To fetter the bleeding slave ; 
It saw the proud bosom burst with the pain, 

Then sink to a friendless grave. 

And there it saw the innocent bleed, 
And Mercy's sweet prayer denied ; 

The guilty stood by to witness the deed, 
And laughed as the innocent died. 

And there, too, it found and gazed upon 

The fields of the warrior clan. 
With many a thousand murdered strown, 

And wept o'er the creature man. 

It saw that right was subdued by wrong, 
And truth sunk in error's abyss ; 

It saw the weak a prey to the strong, 
And virtue outdone by vice. 

The Spirit then went below the wave, 
Where the pearl and the coral are ; 

And sought for peace in the mermaid's cave; 
But the prowling shark was there. 

It rose then and sought a scene of love, 
Where a wing the olive stirred ; 

"Ah, nothing," it said, "will harm this dove, 
'Tis my own sweet emblem bird." 



THE SPIRIT'S VISIT. 145 

And swift, with the dove, it mounted high, 

Above the land and the tide ; 
But the dove, as the whirring hawk came by, 

Was torn from the Spirit's side. 

" I have tried," it said, " the earth, and the sea, 

And the air for a resting-place, 
And flown to the turtle's sacred tree, 

But, alas ! I find no peace." 

The Spirit then wept o'er this earthly sphere, 

And, leaving the fallen clod, 
It cried, " There 's no home for a Spirit here ; 

I '11 rise and return to God ! " 



10 




MY COTTAGE HOME. 

The sun on his journey gilds many a dome, 
But shines not so brightly as on my own 

home ; 
The fair moon so modest lights many a scene, 
But turns to my cottage her prettiest sheen. 

The flowers are springing on many a spot, 
But nowhere so sweetly as round my own 

cot; 
The birds warble gayly from many a tree, 
But sing at my cottage far sweeter to me. 

Peace, industry, health, in my cottage en- 
twine 

To strengthen the virtues, love, social, divine ; 

And all the affections their beauties impart, 

To bloom on the cheek and expand in the 
heart. 

Though low my condition, contentment 's my 

lot, 
Unhallowed ambition flies far from my cot; 
Such thoughts shall not enter my peaceful 

abode, 
My studies shall centre in the works of my 

God. 



MY COTTAGE HOME. 147 

O, let nothing come to disturb the sweet rest 
That dwells in my home like a bird in its 

nest ; 
To the humble and holy the promise is 

given — 
The bird that builds lowly shall soar up to 

heaven. 

I've seen wealth and beauty and all their gay 
train ; 

Without love and duty they end but in pain ; 

I've seen wrong and outrage — their ways 
are e'er hard — 

But ne'er truth and courage without their re- 
ward. 

I'll not toil for treasures — they bring us but 

cares, 
Nor seek for gay pleasures — they're followed' 

by tears ; 
Nor count the world's honors — they fall as 

the showers, 
Regardless of merit — on weeds as on flowers. 

And fame is a phantom that leads on the 

slave, 
Too often through crimes that should shriek 

from the grave ; 
When I die let me rest on the bosom of love, 
With a good name on earth, and a life-hope 

above ! 



THE REJECTED LOVER. 

Ah, no ; lost one, I'll never blame thee, 
Still, still thou art too dear to me ; 

Although I'm now forbid to name thee, 
In silence yet I cling to thee ! 

Farewell ! no more will I implore thee, 
Though still my love is all I heed ; 

My dearest wish is to adore thee, 
And watch my patient bosom bleed ! 

It was my life and joy to know thee, 
But with thee all of life is lost : 

My duty now will be to show thee 

The tenderest heart can bear the most ! 



DESPONDENCY. 

Now Spring returns with gentle showers, 
Restoring beauty to the tree, 

Adorning hill and dale with flowers, 
But brings no joy to me. 

The bird mounts on his airy wings, 
And ranges through the azure free ; 

And to the blushing morn he sings, 
But has no song for me. 

The sun, with genial warmth and light, 
Returns and brings the welcome day ; 

All nature 's smiling with delight, 
But has no smile for me. 

The dusky night, at evening's close, 
Creeps slowly o'er the dewy lea, 

And gives to all the world repose, 
But brings no peace to me ! 



MARY BROWN. 

Untaught in art's deceitful wiles, 

I found thee like a flower, 
That fresh with native beauty smiles 

In some secluded bower. 
Thy pleasing face ne'er wears a frown, 
For thou art gentle, Mary Brown. 

Sweet pity moves thy tender breast, 
With love thy bosom glows ; 

There innocence secures a rest, 
And virtue finds repose. 

No troubled wish to thee is known, 

Nor sullied thought, sweet Mary Brown. 

I would not have thee learn the art 

That dazzles to allure, 
For modesty attracts the heart, 

And holds it more secure. 
Nor would I have thee gain renown 
In fashion's haunts, sweet Mary Brown. 

A belle I would not have thee claimed, 
- Nor see thee gay appear ; 
I would not hear thee princess named, 
Mary is far more dear. 



MART BROWN, 



151 



I would not have thee wear a crown, 
But only be sweet Mary Brown. 

I would not have thee known to fame, 

Nor gold would I have thine ; 
Thy truthful lips the rubies shame, 

Thy heart exceeds the mine. 
Thy worth, when wealth and fame are gone, 
Will still remain, sweet Mary Brown ! 




SWEET, MY GENTLE ONE. 

Those who choose may woo for fashion, 

Give me one whose heart is true ; 
One who feels love's tender passion, 
Never changing for the new. 

Sweet, my gentle beauty, 
Sweet, my gentle one. 

Those who choose may woo for riches, 
Give me one whose wealth is love ; 
One whose sunny eye bewitches, 
Beaming like a star above. 

Sweet, my gentle beauty, 
Sweet, my gentle one. 

Those who choose may woo the witty, 
Give me one whose heart can feel, 
Down whose cheeks sweet tears of pity, 
Like the dews of heaven steal. 

Sweet, my gentle beauty, 
Sweet, my gentle one. 

Those who choose may woo the famous, 
Give me one, who, pure and free, 



SWEET, MY GENTLE ONE. ] 

But for love's sweet sake would claim us ; 
They may have the world for me ! 

Sweet, my gentle beauty, 
Sweet, my gentle one ! 




THE STRICKEN ONE. 

Ah, she was beautiful and bright, 

With such angelic worth, 
And tenderness so exquisite, 

She seemed not of the earth. 

Across her brow a sadness stole, 
And she would gently grieve ; 

She loved the Good and Beautiful, 
But did not wish to live. 

She wandered like a wounded bird 

Pierced by a fatal dart, 
Striving to die unseen, unheard, 

Hiding the cruel smart. 

Ah, what could injure so much worth ? 

What wrong to her befell ? 
She was too innocent for earth, 

And loved, alas, too well ! 



THE LOVER'S SECRET. 

Still my fond bosom burns with love, 
Nor time nor change can make it cold ; 

Its truth the passing years approve, 
And yet that love is all untold. 

Now let me whisper it to thee, 

So soft that none but thee may hear, 

So sacred that no eye may see, 

So sweet that it may win thine ear. 

I never speak thy cherished name 
Save when I breathe it in a prayer ; 

Silent, I feed the quenchless flame, 
So full of pain and yet so dear. 

For years have I caressed the smart, 
And never sought thy sweet regard ; 

Thy precious image in my heart 
Has been my sole, my rich reward. 

Perchance in dreams, when thoughts are free, 

I may have had a fancied kiss, 
And sweeter far a dream of thee 

Than all the joys of waking bliss. 



156 



THE LOVER'S SECRET. 



O, wilt thou now my love approve, 
And give me but a thought — a sigh ? 

A heart so true, and so much love, 
Should never unrewarded die ! 



ifefe% 




OLD CARE. 

Old care in my bosom shall never find rest, 

Nor grief force the tear-drop to start, 
But friendship shall ever be warm in my 
breast, 

And love the sweet charm of my heart. 
No passion unworthy my bosom shall move, 

No feeling of hatred or fear ; 
My heart shall be brimming with love — only 
love, 

Thus leaving no place for old care. 

I'll not seek to stand on ambition's cold height, 

'Tis gained but by turmoil and strife ; 
The heaviest burdens shall ever be light, 

Along the smooth road of my life. 
I'll gather the flowers that bloom by my path, 

Avoiding the touch of the thorn ; 
The fadeless and fragrant I'll twine in a 
wreath, 

As fresh and as bright as the morn. 

The pathway of honor I'll ever pursue, 
Unbought and unsullied by gold : 

The good, and the beautiful, noble, and true, 
Are dearer than millions untold. 



158 OLD CARE. 

My spirit, immortal, no older shall grow, 
Though year after year may depart; 

Though Winter may gather his frosts on 
my brow, 
Yet Summer shall bloom in my heart ! 




LOST LOVE. 

On earth her being, like the flower, 

Soon perished in the blast, 
Too tender for its chilling power — 

Too beautiful to last ! 
She did not to the earth belong, 

And hence with angels gone ; 
In taking her to join the throng, 

Heaven only claimed its own ! 

Ah, love, sweet treasure of the heart, 

A little while is given ; 
Too soon from earth it must depart, 

For love belongs to heaven ! 
How sweet to trace it to the sky, 

Where it forever blooms ; 
Ah, yes ; love there will never die ; 

In heaven there are no tombs ! 



GENTLE DEEDS. 

'Tis better, far, one breast to cheer 

Than bear a hero's name ; 
To heal one heart, or dry a tear, 

Is sweeter far than fame. 

To shield the right — the wrong prevent, 

To take away a pain — 
To love the pure and innocent, 

Are noblest traits of men. 

With all the fame of battle-fields, 
That smoke with human blood, 

A gentle deed an incense yields 
That rises nearer God ! 

When but a little piece of bread, 

To one who needs, is given, 
Though history may not mark the deed, 

'Tis chronicled in heaven ! 



WHEN I AM A SPIRIT. 

I may not tell thee now, 
I must not own the spell ; 

But when I am a spirit 
The secret I will tell ; 

Yes; when I am a spirit, 
The secret I will tell ! 

I may not love thee now, 
Before the sight of men ; 

But when I am a spirit, 
! I will love thee then ; 

Yes ; when I am a spirit, 
0! I will love thee then. 



11 



THE MAIDEN'S CONFESSION. 

O, may a maiden never dream, 

Nor to her bosom own, 
That Love hath lit a gentle flame 

That burns for only one? 

And would it wrong her .virgin breast, 

If, haply, thou shouldst see 
One wish of thine could make her blest, 

One little thought from thee? 

She would not that thy love was given, 

Unless it sought her bower, 
Unpurchased as the breath of heaven 

That comes to kiss the flower. 

If not thus sought, then would she prove, 
With many a pang and tear, 

How much a faithful heart can love — 
How much that heart can bear ! 



HAPPY HOURS. 

They say that Time who steals our hours 

Will never bring them back, 
But bears them off like faded flowers 

That strew his endless track. 

But when I think of childhood's dreams 

That round my pillow cling, 
And dream them o'er again, it seems 

He never stirred his wing. 

And when I hear my father praise 

His little urchin boy, 
It calls to mind those halcyon days 

When all I knew was joy. 

And yet I feel the fervent kiss 

My mother gave her son ; 
Again I share a mother's bliss, 

Forgetting that she 's gone. 

And when I call back friends again, 

That erst I loved to greet, 
And hear each voice's well known strain, 

Again we seem to meet ! 



164 HAPPY HOURS. 

Still oft in fancy midst the bowers 

I with my Ella rove ; 
Then Time brings back those happy hours 

When all I knew was love. 

And still live those with whom when met 

I linger ere we part ; 
Such hours when past I ne'er forget, 

But keep them in my heart. 

Time hallows every happy hour ; 

While fading in the past 
E'en grief and anguish lose their power, 

And cease to pain at last. 

Yes, kind old Time heals all our woes, 

And softens every smart; 
He smiles upon us as he goes, 

And binds the bleeding heart. 

Though Time records his autograph 

Upon the fairest face, 
For youth he gives us wisdom's staff, 

For restless passions, peace. 

Although he thins our locks so dark, 

And silvers them with gray, 
His crumbling touch can never mark 

The spirit with decay. 



HAPPY HOURS. 165 

He gathers all the fadeless flowers 

And weaves them in a wreath, 
And with them twines our well-spent hours 

To blunt the dart of Death. 

What Time has given is all our own, 

He cannot mar the past, 
But what he has to give, unknown ; 

Perchance he 's given the last. 

But whatsoe'er he has in store, 

It cannot all be sad 
To him who 's had a happy hour, 

Or done a noble deed. 

As after music's tones have ceased 

We oft recall the strain, 
So when our happy hours are past 

They come to us again. 

Though Time may mingle thorns with flowers, 

And gloomy hours with gay, 
He brings us back the happy hours 

And bears the sad away. 

Then let us gather only flowers 

Along the path we tread, 
And only count the happy hours, 

Forgetting all the sad. 



166 



HAPPY HOURS. 



And if we yet should feel a woe, 
Fond Hope soon comes to prove, 

That, though 'tis sometimes dark below, 
Tis always bright above ! 




THE MYSTERY. 

Down in a rural, quiet vale, 

Near Cumberland's deep rolling wave, 
An aged hermit told this tale, 

As we were gazing on a grave: 

" None ever knew her home, nor name, 
Nor lineage, nor whence she came ; 
But there, hard by the negro's hut, 
From all save Heaven so rudely shut, 
She sought a shelter from the blast, 
And there, alone, she breathed her last. 

" December's cold congealed the tear 
That agony had bid her weep ; 
No hand to close that eye was near. 
No one the death-bed watch to keep. 

"No pillow for her sinking head, 
Her roof the sky — the earth her bed ; 
And on that breast now cold — so cold, 
Clasped in her arms as if to fold 
It fondly to her lifeless clay, 
A little new-born infant lay ! 



168 



THE MYSTERY. 



Her story is a mystery, 

This little fragment — this is all ; 
But in her ruin we could see 

That she had once been beautiful." 




THE SPOILED BEAUTY. 

As light and shade each other chase 

Along the sunny skies, 
So thought and feeling light her face 

As joy or sadness flies. 

She would be angry, but her love 
The feeling quickly drowns, 

And gentler thoughts her bosom move 
Dimples outdo her frowns. 

Her kindness, though it conquers hate, 
Sometimes will not remain; 

Sometimes it comes but just too late 
To save the heart from pain. 

In speaking ill her words will turn 
To sweetness on her tongue; 

She feels her mantling blushes burn 
And trembles at the wrong. 

She's gentle as a child, yet proud, 
And loves to have her will ; 

When roused she almost thinks aloud, 
Till tears be^in to steal. 



170 TEE SPOILED BEAUTY. 

She wins a lover with a glance 

That melts him to a glow, 
Then frowns him off again, perchance 

To regions cold as snow. 

Her soul-lit eye can melt a heart 

And temper it at will ; 
She wins, she wounds, then heals the smart, 

But wounds not quite to kill. 

Her heart with love is running o'er, 

At pity it will melt ; 
But still it yearns for something more 

Than ever yet it felt. 

She weeps, she smiles, she laughs, she grieves. 

Then weeps and smiles anew ; 
Confides, distrusts, doubts, and believes, 

Acts false and yet is true. 

She is our joy, yet brings us ill ; 

We blame and love her too ; 
In truth she puzzles us until 

We know not what to do ! 



THE LAST KISS. 

She printed on my burning brow 

A kiss of love ; 
I may confess it now, 

She is above ; 
'Twas the last kiss of Ella ! 

Yet, yet that kiss is on my brow, 

That kiss of love ; 
"lis sweet and sacred now, 

She is above ; 
'Twas the last kiss of Ella ! 

Dying she placed it on my brow, 

That kiss of love ; 
Her spirit claims it now, 

She is above ; 
'Twas the last kiss of Ella ! 

To her I'll bear it on my brow, 

That kiss of love ; 
'Tis all 1 cherish now, 

She is above ; 
'Twas the last kiss of Ella ! 



THE WRONGED ONE. 

I meet no kind approving smile, 

To the faint heart so dear ; 
I'm pointed at but to revile ; 

Wrong presses out the tear. 
The one to whom my heart belonged 

Hath left me in my woe ; 
O, I have loved and have been wronged ; 

No one will love me now ! 

My father spurned me from the cot 

That sheltered my young head, 
My mother could not bear my lot — 

My mother! She is dead! 
No friends come now where once they 
thronged, 

No lovers come to woo ; 
0, I have loved and have been wronged ; 

No one will love me now ! 

Whate'er I do none will approve, 

The blight I must endure ; 
And yet methinks I still could love 

The holy, good, and pure. 
Detraction now, so many-tongued, 

Ruins with whispers low ; 



THE WRONGED ONE. 173 

O, I have loved and have been wronged ; 
No one will love me now ! 

Few are the hearts he could not win ; 

0, how my -soul did strive ; 
O God, I did not wish to sin; 

I hope thou wilt forgive. 
For some true heart my own had longed, 

But false was his sweet vow; 
0, I have loved and have been wronged ; 

No one will love me now ! 




THE BACHELOR. 

Come, come, my Muse, and sing the joys 

Of him who has no wife, 
Who lives aloof from care and noise, 

And all the ills of life. 

The Bachelor ! the man of taste, 

Who always very nice is ; 
Whose cultivation is a waste, 

Whose virtues are his vices. 

He sings his song, and takes his glass, 

Talks wise of love and flirts ; 
And knows perchance some jolly lass 

Who steals his linen shirts. 

He dresses well, and cracks his jokes, 

Attends the merry club ; 
There with his cronies swears and smokes, 

And flings the ribald rub. 

At church or party he attends. 

Intrigues at masquerade ; 
Hides very well, and freely spends, 

And knows each dashing jade. 



THE BACHELOR. 175 

He ogles ladies of the mode, 

And talks of piety ; 
And hints about the fatherhood 

Of half the young society. 

No infant screams annoy his ears, 

Nothing offends his nose ; 
When in the mood he loves the dears, 

When not, why, off he goes. 

Death comes at last and ends his name, 

And not one tear is shed ; 
Perhaps you'll hear some friend exclaim, 

"Why! is the fellow dead?" 




BEAUTY AND VIRTUE. 

Beauty, that to earth is given, 

Bloometh but a day; 
Virtue, like the star of heaven, 

Passeth not away. 

Beauty makes our pathway bright, 

Giving joy and love ; 
Virtue shows a heavenly light, 

Guiding us above. 

Happiness should join the two, 
That, when Beauty dies, 

Virtue — loving her below — 
May take her to the skies ! 



SHAKESPEARE, 

God placed on high a single sun, 

The only source of light, 
Whose beaming rays have ever shone 

To gild the planet's flight. 
So Shakespeare's genius stands alone, 

And sends its genial ray 
To lesser orbs, as yonder sun 

Makes bright the planet's way ! 

As other planets still we find, 

But not another sun, 
So Shakespeare, in the world of mind, 

Again must stand alone. 
And as the planets move around, 

But may not reach the sun, 
So Shakespeare's genius still is found 

In majesty alone ! 



12 



ZOE. 

Her flowing locks are dark as night, 

And o'er a bosom stray 
So fair it flashes through like light 

Just bursting into day. 
Sadness her brow has ne'er o'ercast, 

No tear has wet her eye ; 
Sorrow has never touched her breast. 

No pain has bid it sigh ! 

Upon her cheeks the red and white 

In pleasing conflict play ; 
Now one is master, and now quite 

The other gains the day. 
Sweet thoughts her gentle bosom move, 

And light her beaming eye ; 
Her look is truth, her smile is love, 

Her voice is melody ! 

The snow seems drifted on her breast, 
Where veins of purple stray ; 

It stirs like something in a nest — 
As if 'twould fly away. 

Love blushes on her glowing cheeks, 
And kindles in her eye ; 



zoe. 179 

And from her lips he sweetly speaks, 
And trembles in her sigh ! 

Where'er she moves a light and charm 

Sweetly attend her way, 
Smiling around as bright and warm 

As morning's genial ray. 
Unsullied is her gentle breast, 

No passion bids it swell ; 
Untroubled is her heart's sweet rest 

Where truth and beauty dwell ! 




THE IMAGE. 

I saw an Image, and it was beautiful — 
Nature had fashioned it with a plastic 
hand ; 
And Heaven, breathing in the form a lovely 
soul, 
Gave the fair being to virtue's sweet com- 
mand. 

Methought I saw around it a holy light. 

Such as the angels would love to look upon ; 
Love's gentle rays had made it radiant and 
bright 

With genial beauties that like a halo shone ! 

It beamed most sweetly with many a winning 

charm, 

And with a brightness as pure as the ideal ; 

Nor could even fancy twine around the form 

A single beauty more bright than it was 

real ! 

To me was given this Image in sacred keep- 
ing* 
Fondly I guarded it, for I loved it well ; 



THE IMAGE. 181 

It broke of its own beauty, and, sadly weep- 
ing' 
I clasped the Idol as all I cherished fell! 

No power could raise the Image ; the form 
was broken — 
It could but fall too early, it was so fair ; 
Now I am lonely ; my grief is all unspoken ; 
The grave is silent; my heart is buried 
there ! 

And though this Image so beautiful and bright 
Was then but earthly, and to the earth was 
given, 
Tis now immortal, and now, by Faith's pure 
light, 
I see it beaming more beautiful in heaven ! 




THE BEAUTIFUL. 

Ah, what is this the soul can see, 

That now is here and now is gone — 
Something that seems to ever flee, 

Yet ever sweetly woos us on ? 
Sweet spirit ! will it never stay, 

And may we never seize its form ? 
Or must it ever fly away, 

That, flying, we may see the charm? 

It beams upon us like a sun 

That through a cloud its light reveals ; 
'Tis seen by what it shines upon 

Yet that which shows it half conceals ; 
Or like the heaven-descended Bow, 

The sacred covenant with earth, 
We cannot see its radiant glow 

But with the cloud that gives it birth ' 

As swiftly as the cloud it flies, 

And changeful as the passing air ; 

'Tis on the earth, and in the skies, 
Now it is here, and now is there. 

And must it like the fleeting cloud 
Thus ever fly? or, like the Bow, 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 183 

Can it be seen but in its shroud ? 
May we not fix it here below ? 

Alas ! we see the Beautiful 

But in sweet moments as it flies. 
It comes and plays around the soul, 

But dwells alone above the skies ; 
And like an ever-shining flame, 

Or like the ceaseless flowing river, 
Forever changing yet the same, 

It warms and bathes the soul forever ! 




THE TWO HUNTERS. 

Earth is the hunting-ground of Death, 

And none may escape the doom ; 
The old fellow comes to stop our breath, 
And crowns our brows with a poppy wreath, 
Then tumbles us in the tomb ! 

He hunts the mighty and hunts the mean ; 

Whatever we are at birth, 
Or throughout life whatever we've been, 
He strikes us down with his arrow keen, 

And packs us away in earth ! 

This lean old gentleman carries a dart, 

But he cannot kill the soul ; 
He aims to stril<£ us about the heart, 
But the good man never regards his smart, 

Nor cares for his dreary hole. 

Although this king stops many a breath, 

And levels us all so low, 
Yet Time for him is preparing the wreath, 
And digging his grave ; for Death has his 
death, 

So down the old fellow must go ! 



THE TWO HUNTERS. 185 

Another Old One is the father of Sin 
And spreads for us many a snare ; 
He 's darker than Death but hardly as thin, 
He has a deep prison all hot within, 
Though none but the bad go there ! 

His name is the Devil: a sad old knave, 

And arrant old coward is he ; 
His prison is worse ten times than the grave, 
And if you should meet him just show him 
you're brave, 

And away the Devil will flee ! 

This old fellow once rebelled against God, 

In hopes that he Heaven would gain ; 
But out he was cast the very first nod, 
And now he is smarting beneath the rod, 
And writhing in endless pain ! 

These two old Hunters go often a-gunning, 

Each one in search of his prey ; 
Says the Devil to Death, " As I am more 

cunning, 
And, must I confess it? more given to run- 
ning, 
Why, I'll steal the soul away ! " 

Says Death to the Devil, " I'll throttle the 
breath ; " 
The Devil then says "Very well." 



186 THE TWO HUNTERS. 

"I'll bury the body the clods beneath, 
And scare out the soul for you," says Death ; 
Says the Devil, « I'll take it to hell ! " 

And thus after roving and hunting all day, 

At night they tally their slain ; 
Not a virtuous soul bears the Devil away, 
And Death not a body can finally slay, 

For they all will arise again ! 

Now when you meet Death, so lank, grim, 
and surly, 
Just tell him you're ready to die ; 
But watch you the Devil that he doesn't 

hurl ye 
Down, down to his prison-house all hurly 
burly, 
Where the ghosts of the wretched cry. 

Though Death for a time puts all in his cell, 
The Devil can take but his own ; 

If then on the earth in peace you would 
dwell, 

And after this life would keep out of hell, 
Why, just let the Devil alone ! 



JOY TO-NIGHT. 

Goblet, thou holdest a treasure 

I put to my Up, 
Quaffing the sweet drops of pleasure 

At every sip ; 
Never could stoical Roman 

Refuse thee so bright ; 
Sparkle ! let wine, song, and woman 

Be the joy to-night ; 

Be the joy to-night ! 

Stoics may rail out at pleasure, 

We'll taste till we cloy ; 
Misers may hoard up their treasure. 

But we will enjoy. 
Fools may surrender to sorrow, 

We'll' put him to flight ; 
Banish old care till to-morrow, 

Give us joy to-night ; 

Give us joy to-night! 

Brightly dark eyes are now beaming, 
Sweet lips have a smile ; 

Careful old Wisdom is dreaming 
To please us awhile. 



JOY TO-NIGHT. 

Youth is fast fading and dying, 
And all that is bright; 

Pleasures are rapidly flying, 
O, seize them to-night; 
0, .seize them to-night! 

Cupid is counting his kisses, 

More precious than gold ; 
Beauty is melting in blisses 

Too sweet to be told. 
Sadness, dejection, and sorrow, 

Have taken their flight; 
Whate'er betide us to-morrow, 

Give us joy to-night; 

Give us joy to-night ! 




THE MIGHTY RULER. 

The world has always had its rulers — 
Some ruled by sceptre, some by sword ; 

Some have been worthy, some mere pulers, 
And some have governed by a word; 

But he of whom the Muses sing 

Is mightier far than prince or king- ! 

There also have been popes and prelates, 
Who governed in the name of God 

By despotisms christened free-states, 
Though managed by an iron rod ; 

And yet to him without a crown, 

Kings, popes, and prelates all bow down ! 

Throughout all time there have been sages, 
Pouring upon the world their lore, 

Who fill with learning endless pages 
And all things to their depths explore ; 

But wisest sages are but stupid 

In speech or argument with Cupid ! 

And in the past there have been heroes, 
With courage for the battle's shock, 

That dashed them down as if a sea rose 
And cast a weed upon a rock ; 



190 THE MIGHTY RULER. 

But boldest heroes cowards prove 
Whene'er they meet the god of Love. 

He is the ruler of all rulers, 

Throughout all time and over all ; 

While others fell like helpless mewlers. 
He never yet has had his fall ; 

In congress, cabinet, and field, 

To him the wisest, bravest yield. 

He is the prelate of all prelates, 
And has been since our mother ate 

The fruit ; to him all bend the knee, — states 
Are governed by this potentate ; 

And in his wars he shows no quarter 

To gown nor surplice, star nor garter. 

He is the sagest of all sages — ■ 

Has done and will do more for man 

Than all the wisdom of past ages, 
And more than wisdom ever can ; 

One of his glances teaches more 

Than all the sages with their lore. 

He is the hero of all heroes, 

The conqueror of conquerors ; 
Napoleons, Washingtons, and Neroes 

Alike have fallen in his wars ; 
He wins the brightest, proudest wreath, 
And conquers that old conqueror, Death ! 



THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. 

ADDRESSED TO JOHN GARAGHTY. 

Awake, my Muse, your friend address, 
And sing " The Cup of Happiness ! " 

I've seen, dear John, something of life. 
Its love and hatred, peace and strife ; 
Its right and wrong, its toil and care, 
Its disappointments and despair ; 
Its plenty, poverty, and wealth, 
And accidents, disease, and health ; 
The high, the low, the mean, the great, 
The luckless, and the fortunate ; 
Its virtuous labor, vicious leisure, 
Its gilded pain and guilty pleasure ; 
Its wisdom, ignorance, and folly — 
The happy and the melancholy ; 
Its joy, its pain, its hope, its fear ; 
The wish, the sigh, the smile, the tear, 
The good, the bad, the false, the true, 
And genius, as it shines in you ; 
And this it teaches as the sequel — 
That happiness to man is equal ! 



192 THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. 

What is it then ? The secret lies 
In a full cup, not in its size ! 

The child "is tickled with a rattle," 
The soldier needs must fight a battle ; 
The wealthy farmer loves his ease, 
The sailor courts the driving breeze ; 
The lover worships some sweet face, 
The politician loves his place ; 
The statesman stands our country's guard 
Too oft the deed his sole reward. 
Philosophers God's laws explore, 
The poet's pleasure is to soar ; 
The painter, with his argus eyes, 
Sees beauty in the earth and skies ; 
And the musician ever hears 
A chorus in the rolling spheres ; 
Even the miser, soulless, cold, 
Hears music in his clinking gold ! 

The Jew believes in God and Moses, 
And on the Law his faith reposes ; 
The Heathen has his thousand gods, 
And thinks that all Olympus nods ; 
The Christian gives his latest breath 
To Christ, and dies upon his faith! 
The Mussulman unsheaths his sword, 
To propagate Mohammed's word. 
'Mong all the gods and old mythologies, 



THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. 193 

* 
Or modern creeds and school theologies, 
The deist but one God acknowledges, 
While infidels deny them all — 
God, Christ, Mohammed, and St. Paul, — 
And put their only trust in Nature, 
Believing her the sole creator ! 

Some seek for happiness in this 
And some in that ; none seek amiss, — 
For each has something which, possessing, 
Gives to the soul a secret blessing! 

Because our cups have different sizes, 
No inequality arises, 
For various are our wants and wishes ; 
So Nature gives us various dishes, 
The want or wish to satisfy : 
In this lies true equality. 
As some are large and some are small, 
The being full contents us all ! 
The peasant thinks an acre plenty, 
The farmer wishes he had twenty ; 
The lord must have his park and manor, 
While kings embrace beneath their banner 
Nation on nation — half a score — 
And, all being conquered, weep for more ! 
The poor man's treasure is his cow — 
She feeds his babes ; perhaps a sow 
May be the burden of the song 
Of some poor wight, who, all day long, 
13 



194 THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. 

Is toiling with his axe or spade ; 

He counts his pigs, his fortune 's made ! 

Our President, in all his might, 

Is not more happy than this wight ; 

For happiness is happiness, 

Whate'er the causes are that bless. 

Who wants — however rich — is poor, 

And he is rich who wants no more, 

However little be his store. 

And still, however low our state, 

We would not change it with the great — 

For whatsoe'er the gain or pother, 

Not one consents to be another ! 

Because the rich for more will strive, 
May not the poor contented live ? 
Because our friend appears more blest 
Than we, shall that destroy our rest? 
And shall the little wren be still 
Because the thrush may ope his bill ? 
And must the swallow never fly 
Because the eagle sweeps the sky? 

If one should have an empty cup 
Then something soon will fill it up, 
And as a gill won't hold a pint 
'Tis labor lost to put more in't, 
For be it ocean, cup, or pool, 
It never can be more than full ! 



THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. 195 

If bitter draughts the cup should fill, 
The large and small are equal still ; 
For, though the larger more can bless, 
They also hold more bitterness ; 
And if the smaller less contain 
Of happiness, so less of pain. 
But "if a sweet or bitter draught 
May fill the cup that must be quaffed, 
How shall we seek for happiness 
In that which may or curse or bless ? 
The ingredients of the cup thou hast ; 
As you compose it, such the taste : 
Virtue is sweet and vice is bitter ; 
The choice is free, choose, then, the 1 sweeter. 
Thus man may drink of happiness, 
With here and there a smack of bliss, 
And shun the cup of bitterness ! 
As honest labor sweetens food, 
Sweeten this cup by doing good ! 

And should the cup, just filling, break 
Before the holder can partake — 
Before his parched and thirsty lip 
Can even taste the pleasing sip, 
Wouldst thou repine ? Ah, no, my friend L 
New sources soon the charm will lend ; 
Some other cup will quench our thirst, 
Which oft is sweeter than the first. 
In all our pains there is no grief 
But has a joy to bring relief- 



196 THE CUP OF HAPPINESS. 

If life be short, the cup is brittle, 
And holds of good or bad but little ; 
When cup and life together burst, 
Then there is neither draught nor thirst, 
Whate'er we lose, whate'er we gain, 
We give our pleasure for our pain, 
And give our pain to gain our pleasure, 
Equal, exact, measure for measure. 
Thus from the cradle to the grave, 
The same if short or long we live — 
If nothing give we nothing have, 
If nothing have we nothing give ! 

As God made all, and all to bless, 
He gives to each his happiness ; 
None are without, and rfone have all, 
And thus his. equal blessings fall ! 

To you I wish, awake or dreaming. 
A pure, sweet cup, and always brimming 



LOVE VERSES. 



Hearts may be pinioned side by side, 

Yet still remain alone ; 
And hearts, though continents divide, 

May live and love as one. 
There is a chain where'er I stray — 

On mountain, plain, or sea, 
When near thy side or far away — 

That binds me unto thee ! 



Thou tellst me not to love thee! 

Ah, tell this heart to stop, 
Or bid this bosom never 

Cherish its warmest drop ! 
Thou tellst me not to love thee ! 

Bid me not love my breath, 
Or live without its power — 

Put me at once to death ! 



in. 

I would no further seek 
The secret to disclose, 



198 LOVE VERSES. 

When tears prevail ; 

The drop upon thy cheek, 
Like dew upon a rose, 

Tells the sweet tale ! 



IV. 

Take this fond token ere we part, 
Look on it, and remember me ; 

Until old Death shall still this heart, 
I'll ask no sign to think of thee ! 



Though friendship is by friendship bound. 
Yet love by friendship never ; 

But -when two hearts by love are joined, 
Then only Death can sever! 



VI. 



That which is true we need not prove 
Almost I doubt thee, pretty elf; 

Thy love too much resembles love, 
For Love is never like himself! 



VII. 

Virtue is Love's fair shepherdess, 
And Marriage is the fold 



LOVE VERSES. 199 

In which she pens our happiness ; 
Naught else our joys will hold ! 



VIII. 

There is no art to hide the love 
The bosom oft would fain conceal, 

But many an art by which to prove 
The love the bosom does not feel ! 



IX. 

She hid the wrong 'neath woman's pride, 
And, ah ; it was a bitter sting ! 

As wounded birds, when dying, hide 
The fatal arrow 'neath the wing ! 



How many a pang, how many a sting, 
Have pierced my heart and brain ; 

Alas, that e'er so sweet a thing 
As love should bring us pain ! 



XI. 

A heart of tenderness, a soul refined, 
Not ruled, but guided by a genial mind ; 
A person beautiful, adorned with grace, 
And gentle manners. A winning face, 



200 LOVE VERSES. 

That shows the workings of a heart and soul 
In harmony with virtue's sweet control ; 
A breast that sympathy may gently move, 
From passion free, yet not averse to love ! 



XII. 

Ah, many an eye may sparkle bright, 
Lighted by love's sweet beam ; 

But Emma's pours a flood of light 
That bathes you in its stream ! 



Whoever laughs at Cupid's skill, 
Or doubts his godship's power to kill — 
He never saw those eyes of thine, 
And never felt these pangs of mine ! 

XI v. 

For gentle Julia's dusky ringlets, 
Bright-shining gold in vain may jingle its 
Enriching sound, in vain may shine ; 
I would not give them for a mine ! 



xv. 



The heart that marks its throbs precisely, 
But little love can feel : 



LOVE VERSES. 201 

He loves not well who can love wisely, 
Nor wisely who loves well. 

XVI. 

She gave her love to him alone, 
None else her bosom shared ; 

So true her heart she still loved on, 
All hopeless of reward! 

XVII. 

As flowers their sweetness most impart 

Beneath the gentle power 
Of falling dew, so love the heart 

Kevives, as dew the flower ! 

XVIII. 

Love makes his bow 

By Julia's brow, 
And steals her ringlets for his strings ; 

Her glance he borrows 

To make his arrows, 
Which as the lightning quick he flings 

And with the dart 

Pierces the heart 
That can but fall beneath its stings ! 



202 LOVE VERSES. 

XIX. 

Love smiles and weeps, 

Chides and forgives, 
Praises and blames, 
Doubts and believes, 
Through many a joy and pain ; 
Then smiles and weeps, 

Chides and forgives, 
Praises and blames, 
Doubts and believes, 
A thousand times again ! 



XX. 

Naught but a single virtuous love 
Can make the bosom blest, 

Ten thousand loves can never fill 
The prostituted breast ! 



JOSEPHINE. 

The gloomy night, with sable wing, 

Is hovering o'er the earth ; 
And though the sun the day will bring, 

The innocent sweet mirth 
Of one will never more be heard 

Ringing its silvery tone, 
Caroling like a joyous bird — 

For Josephine is gone ! 

And soon the spring will come again ; 

The little birds so free, 
Will come and sing their wonted strain 

From many a bower and tree. 
Our gentle bird no more we'll hear, 

But there will be a moan, 
And there will be a sob and tear — 

For Josephine is gone ! 

And soon again the flowers will bloom 

As they have bloomed before, 
Save one we've buried in the tomb, 

That here will bloom no more. 
Though one less flower to earth is given, 

And, ah, the sweetest one, 
There is another star in heaven — 

For Josephine has gone ! 



LOVE IS LIKE A BEE. 

Love is like a bee. he loves fair weather ; 

Love is like a bee, he shuns the storm ; 
Love is like a bee, he fears a tether, 

And like a bee, he flies away from harm. 

Love is like a bee, he loves the flower ; 

Love is like a bee, he flies away ; 
Love is like a bee, he seeks the bower, 

And like a bee, he seldom long will stay. 

Love is like a bee, he gathers honey ; 

Love is like a bee, he cloys on sweets ; 
Love is like a bee, he lights on many, 

And like a bee, he steals from all he meets. 

Love is like a bee, he is a prober, 

Love is like a bee, he brings us pain ; 

Love is like a bee, he is a robber, 

And like a bee, he seldom comes again. 

Love is like a bee, he's ever flying; 

Love is like a bee, none know his haunts : 
Love is like a bee, he 's always sighing, 

And like a bee, he pilfers what he wants. 



LOVE IS LIKE A BEE. 



205 



Love is like a bee, he is a rover ; 

Love is like a bee, he has a wing; 
Love is like a bee, a truant lover, 

And like a bee, he often leaves a sting ! 




POOR LAVINIA. 

Far she wandered from the homestead, 
Where the winding streamlets lave, 

Over fields and through the forests, 
Seeking for her Edwin's grave. 

As she rambled onward, onward, 
Many dangers did she brave ; 
And the burden of her song was — 
" Where, 0, where is Edwin's grave ? " 

All disheveled were her tresses, 

Love's poor wandering, weary slave ; 

Torn and tattered were her garments — 
She was seeking for a grave. 

At the sunrise or the setting — 

When all eyes were sleeping save 
Those that weep — still, still her moan was 
" Where, O where is Edwin's grave ? " 

Thus she wandered like a pilgrim, 
By the mountain and the cave, 
Ever searching, ever asking, 
" Can you show me Edwin's grave ? " 



POOR LAVINIA. 207 

Solemn often was her language 

Of the sins that God forgave ; 
Wildly then would burst her laughter, 

Talking still of Edwin's grave. 

Far to distant lands she wandered, 
Seeking by the rock and wave, 

Till within a lonely wildwood 
She descried her Edwin's grave ! 

And she murmured as she found it, 

" This is all of earth I crave, 
I have come where he was waiting, 
Here I'll rest — 'tis Edwin's grave ! " 

Bleak and chilly was December, 

Pitiless the winds did rave, 
Strangers came and proffered shelter, 

But she left not Edwin's grave ! 

Raiment, food, and drink were offered, 

But she stared at what they gave ; 
Kneeling low and fondly asking, 
" Is not this my Edwin's grave ? " 

Also came her father, mother, 
Still in hopes their child to save, 

All unheeding gazed she on them, „ 

Clinging still to Edwin's grave. 



208 



POOR LAV1NIA. 



She was true, and she was tender, 
Yet she did not weep nor rave ; 

Of her grief she made no story, 
But she died on Edwin's grave j 




MEMORY. 

Memory holds the sacred treasures 
Garnered for the heart and mind, 

And records our dearest pleasures, 
Leaving care and pain behind. 

And without its radiant pages, 
All our years once having flown, 

Though they numbered thrice our ages, 
Would be lost and ever gone. 

But in memory we recall them ; 

Thus their pleasures ever last ; 
No sad fate can now befall them, 

For they're hallowed in the past. 

Memory is the secret mirror 
Of the soul, wherein it sees 

All it loves, that dear and dearer 
Grows as time still onward flees. 

Though it may not dazzle brightly, 
Yet its light fades not away ; 

And the heart, if beating rightly, 
Feels its warm and genial ray. 
14 



210 MEMORY. 

Oft it changes pain to pleasure, 
And subdues the keenest smart ; 

Even grief becomes a treasure 
To the true and chastened heart. 



Still we see a sister, brother, 
Still we clasp a blooming bride ; 

Still in dreams our gentle mother 
Comes and watches by our side. 



And the faith our mother taught us, 

On the spirit's noiseless wing, 
Comes as if an angel sought us, 

Robbing pain of half its sting. 

Sweet impressions of our childhood, 

Flowers and birds, the rocks and stream, 

Pleasing haunts along the wildwood, 
Long survive our manhood's dream. 

These, when all the rest have perished, 

Are the latest to depart ; 
For the things that first we cherished 

Are the last to leave the heart ! 



BLISS AND BANE. 

We little know till we possess, 

That which our bliss or bane may prove 
The heart may even cloy on bliss, 

And sicken on the sweets of love. 

Ah, could the passions but explore 
The depths of what they blindly ask, 

And cease their longings still for more, 
How easy then were virtue's task ! 




TO MARY. 

I watched thy growing charms burst forth, 
Touched by a wondrous power, 

As springing buds leap from the earth 
Beneath the genial shower; 

Nor dreamed I then that so much worth 
Lay hidden in the flower. 

Those winning charms, so sweet to view, 

That worth so much commend, 
They've made my olden heart anew ; 

Nor deemed I thus 'twould end, — 
That I should turn a lover, you 

But know me as a friend ! 



^ 



SELF. 

The herd will leave the stricken deer, 
The flock heeds not the wounded bird ; 

The weak unnoticed shed the tear, 

The injured breathe their sighs unheard. 

The ass's hoof heeds not the flower. 
The tiger tears the bleeding kid ; 

Thus treads the tyrant in his power, 
And thus the innocent must bleed ! 

The king, that he a crown may wear 

Upon a hot uneasy brow, 
Pursues his wild and mad career, 

Through wrong and ruin, blood and woe ! 

The friend forgets the friend whose aid 
(No longer needed) gave him fame; 

The lover leaves the ruined maid; 

He does the wrong, she bears the blame. 

The slave must bear the tyrant's lash, 
Cringing beneath the cruel smart; 

The miser takes the pound of flesh, 
And coins his victim's bleeding heart ! 



214 



SELF. 



Whatever object man pursues — 
Or love, or fame, or place, or pelf; 

Whichever bubble he may choose, 
Tis ever, and 'tis only, self! 




THE OLD COQUETTE. 

'Tis vain, wanton, cease thy painting, 
0, cease thy wrinkled cheeks to stain ; 

And cease thy languishing and fainting, — 
These silly arts are now in vain. 

Thy faded cheeks, are wan and sallow, 
Their blooming roses all are flown ; 

Thy heartless breast, all gaunt and hollow, 
No more is fit for Cupid's throne. 

No longer Love's true flame can brighten 
Thy soulless, dull, and sunken eye ; 

And dainty Cupid will not light on 
Lips that have lost their vermeil dye. 

The hair old Time has left unshaven 
Is but a thin and whitened wreath ; 

Its color, if it e'er were raven, 
Has fled and settled on thy teeth. 

Ah, fled forever is thy beauty, 

Nor robes, nor gems can bring it back ; 
No si^hinor lovers now salute thee — 

They've looked into thy almanac ! 



216 THE OLD COQUETTE. ' 

Thy skinny arms and neck all shrivelled, 
Thy bosom, though it may be bare, 

Thy form that lovers once bedriveled, 
In vain you're spreading as a snare. 

Though once, perchance, thou wert enchanting, 
And once the amorous sigh would steal, 

Yet now thy odd lascivious panting 
But feigns the flame you cannot feel. 

The torch that once might kindle flashes, 

And dazzle many a silly swain, 
Has smouldered down to very ashes — 

Not even embers now remain ! 




MY LOVE. 

Ah, hast thou watched the lily grow, 

Expanding from its blossom ? 
Or gazed upon the drifted snow ? 

Then thou hast seen her bosom ! 

Hast seen the rose upon the lawn, 
Near where the fountain gushes ; 

Or hast thou marked the glowing dawn ? 
Then thou hast seen her blushes ! 

Ah, hast thou viewed a cloud at e'en, 

Arching above a lovely sky 
Lighted with stars ? Then thou hast seen 

Her locks, her brow, her eye ! 

Hast listened to the warbling bird, 
And heard his little throat rejoice 

At coming morn ? Then thou hast heard 
Her sweet enchanting voice ! 

Sweet are the flowers upon the plain, 

Where bees delight to sip, 
And sipping once return again, 

But sweeter is her lip ! 



218 MY LOVE. 

The fragrance of a thousand stems, 
That ope their blossom to the air, 

The bower, with all its dewy gems, 
Is not so sweet, nor fair ! 

A fairy in a fleecy cloud 

Has not a lovelier form ; 
The robes that so much beauty shroud 

Enhance each winning charm ! 

If thou hast seen in one sweet view — 
While each for mastery strove — 

The Good, the Beautiful, the True, 
Then thou hast seen my Love ! 




COME, LOVE, TO ME. 

Come, Love, to me, 

Come, Love, to me, 
Come when the nightingale warbles his lay; 

Come, Love, to me, 

Come, Love, to me, 
Come when the daylight is stealing away. 
Come with the first star that shines from above, 
Yes, with the first star, 0, then come, my Love ! 

Come, Love, to me, 

Come, Love, to me, 
Come with the first star that shines from above ; 

Come, Love, to me, 

Come, Love, to me, 
Yes, with the first star, O, then come, my Love ! 

Stay, Love, with me, 

Stay, Love, with me, 
Stay till the daylight is shining above ; 

Stay, Love, with me, 

Stay, Love, with me, 
Stay till the daylight, then still tarry, Love. 
Stay till the morning returns with its ray, 
Yes, till the morning, then go not away ! 

Stay, Love, with me, 

Stay, Love, with me, 



220 



COME, LOVE, TO ME. 



Yes, till the morning returns with its ray ; 
Stay, Love, with me, 
Stay, Love, with me, 

Yes, till the morning, then never go 'way ! 




THE SWEET SOUTH WIND. 

Whence comest thou, my sweet south wind, 

Flying away, flying away? 
Whence comest thou, my sweet south wind, 
Flying away ? 
I come from the mountain, 

And over the lea ; 
I ripple the fountain 
And ruffle the tree ; 

Flying away, flying away ! 

What bringest thou, my sweet south wind, 

Flying away, flying away? 
What bringest thou my sweet south wind. 
Flying away? 
The voice of the bowers, 
The sweets of the lea, 
The breath of the flowers, 
These bring I to thee; 

Flying away, flying away! 

What sayest thou, my sweet south wind, 

Flying away, flying away? 
What sayest thou, my sweet south wind, 
Flying away? 



222 TBE SWEET SOUTH WIND. 

From matin till vesper, 

As onward I rove, 
Sweet, sweet is my whisper, 

My song is of love ; 

Flying away, flying away ! 

Where goest thou, my sweet south wind. 

Flying away, flying away ? 
Where goest thou, my sweet south wind, 
Flying away ? 
To the mountain I'm flying, 

The place of my rest ; 
There, weeping and sighing, 
I die on its breast ; 

Flying away, flying away! 




MOHAN AND NORA. 

Young Moran reapt the sheaf in Koska's field, 
And Nora bleached her flax upon the lea ; 

Moran was weary, and he sought a shield 
From the hot sun, beneath the spreading 
tree. 

Nora was pausing, for her work was done ; 

Sweet were the words of Moran as he said — 
" Thy flax will whiten in the beaming sun, 

Come, rest thee, Nora, in the cooling shade. 

" The grass is tender, and the flowers are sweet, 
Here we are sheltered by the leafy bough ; 

The fragrant breezes fan away the heat, 
Thy work is finished, come and rest thee 
now. 

"Tis sweet, my Nora, to be near to thee, 
But heavy is my toil when thou art gone ; 

0, I am happy when you rest with me, 
Is not my bosom true to lean upon ? 

" The touch of thy soft hand is sweet to mine, 
Sweet to my bosom is the gentle thrill ; 



224 MORAN AND NORA. 

My heart beats warmly when 'tis prest to thine, 
Ah, wouldst thou, Nora, bid its throb be 
still ? " 

Her mother wondered why the girl should stay, 

Why should she go, now that the flax is 

white ? 

Young Moran, too, along the field would stray — 

The sheaf was gathered and his toil was 

light ! 




TO . 

For thee my bosom fondly yearns, 

My passion do not blame ; 
It is a love that purely burns, 

I would not hide the flame. 

Think not that it would mar thy bliss, 

Nor that its fond desire, 
Because it burns, unholy is : 

'Tis a refining fire ! 

But one sweet favor grant to me — 
'Twill give my bosom rest ; 

When sad, O let me come to thee 
And weep upon thy breast ! 



15 



THE BROOK. 

T remember in my childhood, 
Ere my happy years had flown, 

How I wandered by the wildwood, 
Where the brook ran laughing on. 

Birds were singing from the trees, 
Flowers were blooming on the lawn, 

Boughs were waving in the breeze, 
And the brook went laughing on. 

With me wandered playful boys, 
By its windings up and down, 

Sharing with the birds their joys, 
As the brook went laughing on. 

But the boys that played with me 
By the streamlet now are gone ; 

And the birds have ceased their glee, 
Yet the brook goes laughing on ! 

One my heart remembers roved 
By that brook with me alone ; 

There we wandered, rested, loved, 
While the brook went laughing on ! 



THE BROOK. 227 

Like the flowers her blushes bloomed, 
Like the bird's was her sweet tone ; 

But, alas ! she, too, was doomed — 
0, how could the brook laugh on ? 

Hope was once like cloudless day, 

Not a trouble had I known ; 
My mother brushed my tears away, 

As the brook went laughing on. 

My father made a little boat — 
Made it for his thoughtless son ; 

On the stream I let it float, 

And the brook went laughing on. 

Yes, I trusted to its tide, 

And my boat sunk by a stone ; 

Being but a boy, I cried, 
Yet the brook went laughing on ! 

Since, I've larger vessels sailed ; 

In the ocean they went down, 
Where the troubled breakers wailed ; 

Still, the brook went laughing on ! 

Then I sought the battle's strife, 
Bold and bloody deeds were done ; 

Tears flowed with the tide of life, 
But the brook went laughing on ! 



228 THE BROOK. 

Storms across my brow have swept, 
What I toiled for now is gone ; 

Manhood came, and still I wept, 
While the brook went laughing on ! 

All my brightest hopes have fled, 
Friends have left me one by one ; 

Some betrayed me — some are dead, 
Yet the brook goes laughing on ! 

Time and brook flow to a shore, 
Boundless, fathomless, unknown ; 

Time and brook that come no more, 
Dash and laugh forever on ! 

Now I'm old ; my steps are slow ; 

Here I wander all alone ; 
Soon life's stream must cease to flow, 

But the brook will still laugh on ! 



HAPPY TO-DAY. 

Away with your sadness, 

Complaining, and fears ; 
Awaken your gladness 

And dry up your tears : 
Begone with your sorrow, 

Dash trouble away ; 
Fear not for to-morrow, 

Be happy to-day. 

This dark melancholy 

Will ruin the heart ; 
'Tis nothing but folly, 

Then bid it depart : 
For sadness but doubles 

Our sorrow and pain, 
And fills full of troubles 

The heart and the brain ! 

The joys that are dearest 
We longest remember, 

While sorrows severest 
Die out like an ember ; 

For troubles are fleetest 
And die with the pain, 



230 HAPPY TO-DAY. 

While pleasures the sweetest 
The longest remain ! 

To-day have you gladness? 

You will ever be glad ; 
To-day have you sadness ? 

You will ever be sad ; 
Then drive away sorrow, 

Be happy to-day, 
Be happy to-morrow, 

Be happy alway ! 




VIRTUE. 

It is no plant born of the Summer's breath, 
That fades and withers at the coming frost ; 

But shows to Winter e'en its loveliest wreath, 
And oft in rudest regions blooms the most. 

In every clime it grows and every soil, 
Its peerless beauty every season decks, 

Nor fears the Winter with his gloomy spoil, 
Its genial presence a sweet Summer makes. 

Plant it in deserts and it blossoms there, 
It blooms on rocks and in the deepest caves, 

Adorns the mountain peak, however drear, 
And casts its beauties to the ocean wave. 

Where'er it is there sunshine lights the scene, 
The skies are shining with its radiance 
bright ; 
Though it in prison and in tower has been, 
Even there its rays can make the dungeon 
light. 

It sheds its fragrance on the funeral pyre, 
And springs from ashes mouldering in the 
tomb ; 



232 VIRTUE. 

No wrong can harm it, for it blooms in fire — 
The flame extracting but a rich perfume ! 

Perennial plant, of sweet celestial birth, 
Eternal flower, that never fades or dies ; 

For when its mission is performed on earth ; 
Transplanted hence it blossoms in the skies ! 




THE MARCH OF HUMANITY. 

Hark, hark ! the march of Humanity, 
The sound is ringing o'er land and sea, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 
It comes from the dark and hidden past, 
Through ages and ages it marches fast, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the clash of death in the strife, 
As millions and millions are springing to life. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 
And millions and millions are yielding their 

breath ; 
Thus spring they to life, thus fall they in 
death ; 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the revel of song and glee, 
All broken with groans of misery, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp; 
And hear the sad mourners shrieking in pain 
As Humanity drags its weary chain, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the boasting of tyranny, 
As it crushes the heart of Liberty ; 
Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 



234 THE MARCH OF HUMANITY. 

But yet shall Liberty break the yoke, 
And yet shall the tyrant feel the stroke ; 
Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the hideous grating sound 

Of wrong as it cries from the bloody ground ; 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 
Then list to the gentle songs of praise, 
As the worthy to heaven their anthems raise ; 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the solemn procession comes, 
On, on it marches to fill the tombs, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 
The wicked are falling in woe and pain, 
The worthy are rising to live again ; 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the wail of the troubled dead, 
As over their bosoms the living tread, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 
Heavy and hard as onward they go, 
They move o'er the dead that sleep below; 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

Hark, hark ! the hymn of the happy dead, 
As they soar above where the living tread, 

Tramp, tramp, tramp ; 
While the dead that sink forever shall die, 
The dead that arise shall live in the sky ; 

Tramp, tramp, tramp! 



POETRY. 

Ah, who shall tell me what thou art, 

Divine, mysterious power! 
That hovers round the genial heart 

As fragrance round the flower. 

That like the soft ethereal bow 

Flashes its heavenly light 
On all created things below, 

And makes the world so bright! 

The Spirit of the Beautiful, 
In all things true and good, 

That gushes from a mighty soul, 
Too full to check the flood ! 



MUSIC. 

Music is liquid poetry, 

Whose soft and genial flow 

Reaches the heart's deep mystery, 
Where language cannot 20. 



O" 



Sweet soother of the troubled heart, 
That speaks without a tongue — 

That touches beauty with its art 
And moulds it into song. 

Voice of the unseen beautiful 

To wordless spirit given, 
That whispers to the listening soul 

The harmony of heaven ! 



SONNETS. 



NIAGARA. 

Almighty God ! who sees the dew-drop fall. 
And sends the rain that falls alike on all ; 
Who pours the fountain from its secret source, 
And guides the river in its onward course ; 
Who parts the waters from the teeming land. 
And holds the ocean in His mighty hand ; 
Who states the tides and moves upon the 

deep, 
To rouse the billow or to bid it sleep ; 
Who deluged earth and covered mountains 

high, 
Then set this token in the hallowed sky, — ■ 
Here, by these waters, in their ceaseless flow, 
Has fixed His covenant. Behold the Bow ! 
And while earth trembles 'neath the mighty 

load, 
Man sees the promise and the power of God ! 



THE TRYST. 

Down by the rivulet, 
Where the bells are blue, 

Stealing from the sky's soft hue ; 
There, under locks of jet, 
Gentle eyes of blue 

Kindly gaze when love is true. 
Near where the violet 
Shows its bud of blue, 

There I told my love to you. 

Come when the sun has set, 
Ere the fall of dew, 

Where the tree and zephyr woo, 
Come ere the leaf is wet — 

Owning that your love is true ! 



TO BEAUTY. 

Ah, she was beautiful, 
But when he came more beautiful, 

And she would wait his coming 

And she smiled pleasingly, 
But when he gazed more pleasingly, 

And she would watch his gaze ; 

And she spake tenderly, 
But when near him more tenderly, 

And she would glide up near ; 

And she was excellent, 
But unto him most excellent, 

And she would worship him ; 

Ah, she was beautiful, 
And beauty dwelt within her soul ! 



EPIGRAMS. 



ON A MISER'S SAFE. 

How many hoard their treasures here, 

Still striving to acquire, 
And never take a thought or care 

To save their souls from fire ; 
But he who owns this triple chest 

Counts not his soul as chaff, 
For here he keeps what he loves best, 

His soul is in his safe ! 




KNOWLEDGE AND DUTY. 

Thk sciences are what we know, 
Philosophy is what we don't ; 

Morals are what we ought to do, 
Religion what we wont! 



16 




ON THE PROFESSIONS. 

Through life we are patched 

Till by Death overmatched : 
The lawyers our pockets take care of; 

Our spirits, the preacher; 

The doctors, the creature ; 
Then Death comes, our bodies to bear off ! 




BETTINA TO GOETHE. 



I was a little budding flower, 

Beneath thy light I grew; 
Make me a blossom in thy bower, 

Refresh me with thy dew. 
A flower within thy bosom laid 

Forever would I be ; 
Forever from all others hid, 

And seen alone by thee. 
O, then, crush not the opening bud, 

But let it sweetly bloom ; 
Nor bid be still my heart's warm blood, 

Make not my breast a tomb ! 



ii. 

As morning sunlight on the hills 

Kisses the land and sea, 
So love with joy my bosom fills 

And lights me on to thee. 
As flows the stream, my love I pour, 

And only thee it laves ; 



244 BETT1NA TO GOETHE. 

My heart the source, and thou the shore, 

To hold its lashing waves. 
What think'st thou, Goethe, of this love 

That rushes on to thee, 
As rivers ever onward move 

And pour into the sea? 

in. 

Forget not how my heart's first flame. 

Flashed to thy noble mind ; 
It was because they wronged thy name — 

They spoke of thee unkind ; 
Nor how the warbling nightingale 

Complaining from the tree, 
As oft I wandered through the vale, 

Led on my soul to thee. 
I trace thee in my lonely ways, 

When the young leaf is still ; 
Thou com'st to warm me with thy rays, 

And win me to thy will ! 



IV. 

Genius, sense-essence, is the life 

That inspiration breathes, 
Waking the flowers, e'en on a cliff— 

Twining them into wreaths ; 
It is the sun, whose light and shade 

The sweetest fragrance give 



BETTINA TO GOETHE. 245 

To flowers of love that else would fade ; 

The dews descend — they live ! 
Thus did thy genius wake my dawn 

With pure and holy light, 
And when its genial rays are gone, 

All seems to me as night. 



The sun above us condescends 

To glow upon the flower, 
And gives it light and life, and lends 

It beauty by its power. 
The flower can never hope to rise 

Nor follow in its track ; 
It can but gaze up to the skies 

And give its fragrance back. 
'Tis thus thou shed'st around a light 

As beaming as the sun, 
For where thou art there is no night, 

Thou Heaven-illumined one ! 



Thy spirit penetrates my heart 

To rouse or lull my soul, 
One look of thine can through me dart, 

And all the me control. 
Thou tun'st the chords of love at will, 

And canst each tone command ; 



246 BET TINA TO GOETHE. 

They tremble, murmur, plead, or thrill 

Beneath thy master hand. 
Music is leaping from the string, 

And flowing in thy song ; 
I drink of love — I'm languishing, 

I drink and I am strong. 

VII. 

Nature is pouring from thy breast, 

Filling the world with joy; 
I feel the stream, and I am blest 

With sweets that never cloy. 
My ever-gushing soul is full, 

Unresting as the sea; 
Its swelling waves, as on they roll, 

Receive their light from thee ; 
Swiftly my life-stream urges on 

My heart, a buoyant thing ; 
Thou art the rock I rest upon, — 

Save, save, to thee I cling ! 

VIII. 

Thou art in nature everywhere, 

All nature is in thee ; 
Where'er I ramble, here or there, 

In all things thee I see. 
Of everything thou art a part 

In nature's fellowship ; 



BET TIN A TO GOETHE. 247 

Thy memory burns within my heart, 

And lives upon my lip ; 
I wander in my solitude, 

Where thou hast breathed the air ; 
I seek the spot where thou hast stood, 

And prostrate lay me there ! 

IX. 

As nightingale, in accents wild, 

Sings from the full-blown tree, 
I, Fancy's poor devoted child, 

Pour out my soul to thee. 
To me thou art a beaming sun 

To bless the opening flower ; 
Or starry night, when day is done. 

That brings the dewy hour. 
I am a vine, thou art a tree ; 

I cling, thou hold'st me up ; 
The rains refresh, I drink from thee — - 

Thy lips shall be my cup ! 

x. 

The mountain, river, and the shore, 

Sun-brightened smile on me, 
Because my heart and soul adore, 

And rise in light to thee ; 
Blue heights, green trees, ocean, and land. 

Thy love in all I see ; 



248 BETTINA TO GOETHE. 

All nature is but spirit, and 

All love divinity ! 
Thou art my world ; all parts, the whole 

Without thee nothing is ; 
To know thee and be in thy soul — 

This is eternal bliss ! 



XI. 

The noonday sunbeam does not shine 

As bright, nor drive away 
The darkness like one glance of thine, 

One little smiling ray. 
A firmament is in thy mind, 

Sun, moon, stars, sky, and all ; 
And in thy garden-heart I find 

A world without the Fall. 
Thy thoughts like daring eagles fly, 

Thy genius is thy life ; 
Thy mind expands beyond the sky — 

Eternity is brief! 

XII. 

Thy god-like mind and angel brow, 
Rounded by loving thought, 

And prophet lips, with heavenly glow, 
My inspiration taught ; 

It is thy mind that makes me think, 
Thy heart through which I feel ; 



BETT1NA TO GOETHE. 249 

Thou art the fountain whence I drink, 

Pure as the crystal well. 
Ah, yes, thy qualities exceed 

All other men's so far, 
To claim them seems as if a weed 

Would hope to reach a star! 

XIII. 

Thy heart is genial and serene, 

Thy mind a shining sky ; 
Thy senses one ideal scene 

Of heavenly purity. 
Who sees thee with their natural eyes 

Sees not thee as thou art ; 
Who sees thy soul, without disguise, 

Must see thee with the heart. 
I saw an insect creep to thee, 

And stray upon thy breast ; 
Thou wert not angry, then let me 

Come there and sweetly rest! 

XIV. 

Thy breast to me a cradle is, 
Wrap me and rock me there ; 

There let my spirit sleep in bliss, 
Let me be near thy care : 

And lead me by my trembling hands 
Along the devious way; 



250 BET TIN A TO GOETHE. 

Thy nature all my soul commands, 

I cannot disobey: 
For I am but a child — thy child, 

Living upon thy love ; 
One smile, one look, so sweet, so mild ! 

Feeds me as from above ! 



Still night ! I love its pensive hours ; 

Upon its lap I rest, 
Till morn and fresh-awakened flowers 

By pearly drops are blest ; 
No evening brings the slumber-hour 

That I breathe not thy name 
In prayers to the Almighty Power, 

Pure as an incense flame. 
Let me be cradled in thy heart, 

And no one steal thy child : 
My spirit comes, say not depart — 

Without thee all is wild ! 

XVI. 

A single kindly thought from thee 

Is like a precious gem ; 
Tis a bright ornament to me, 

A queenly diadem. 
One moment just to feel thy soul, 

Thy gently-touching kiss — 



BETT1NA TO GOETHE. 251 

How rich ! for thou canst bless through whole 

Eternities of bliss ! 
To love thee is to know all things, 

So much to thee is given ; 
To see thee gives the spirit wings — 

To be with thee is heaven ! 



XVII. 

Sweet thoughts of thee refresh my mind, 

As zephyr fans the tree, 
And though they wander as the wind 

They're wafting on to thee. 
I feel devotion on thy breast, 

Thine eyes preach God's pure light; 
There, praying, let me fondly rest, 

Confiding in thy might. 
There is a wild, grand nature-life 

That dares the precipice, 
And this is Genius; tamer strife 

Denies us half our bliss ! 

XVIII. 

I felt thy presence in thy book, 
Thy song, the first I learned ; 

O how I longed for one sweet look, 
And how my bosom yearned. 

Thou singest for a listening world, 
And not alone for me ; 



252 BETTINA TO GOETHE. 

While, lovingly, with locks uncurled, 

I sing alone for thee. 
To give myself to thee — my task, 

And never thee possess, 
And nought of thee to ever ask, 

Though most the power to bless. 

XIX. 

Upon thy breast my spirit hides, 

And gazes in thine eyes, 
Forgetting all the world besides 

In those deep placid skies. 
With thy grand soul mine cannot soar, 

Thy heart I may not meet ; 
To kneel to thee — I ask no more, 

Ennobled at thy feet. 
I may not win thy love to me, 

And yet no one shall dare 
To match their love with mine for thee, 

Nor give so large a share ! 



xx. 

This throbbing heart knows nought of schools, 

Nor knows it what to say ; 
'Tis something mightier far that rules, 

And bears me on my way. 
I feel the throbs each other chase 

Along my veins, a heat 



BETT1NA TO GOETHE. 253 

Comes o'er my blushing cheek and face ; 

O how my temples beat. 
Eyelashes on each other laid, 

Sleep ; let thy spirit be 
Entwined in many a magic thread, 

And dreaming, list to me ! 

XXI. 

My yearning heart in dreamy bliss 

Pants through the summer night ; 
My sadness is my happiness, 

My darkness is my light. 
What would I give could I one kiss 

From thy full soul obtain ; 
My eagerness to gain the bliss 

Awakes a timorous pain ; 
As when we first the nectar drink 

From love's sweet dewy kiss, 
Our senses are afraid ; we shrink 

And fear our sweetest bliss ! 



XXII. 

How fate with my fond love may deal, 

I do not care to know ; 
All that I wish to know and feel 

Is that I love thee now. 
What though I give my love unsought, 

Who dares to disapprove ? 



254 BETTINA TO GOETHE. 

The purest love is never bought — 

Such is Eternal Love ! 
I tell thee all, I know no art, 

To thee my soul is bare ; 
Then draw me closely to thy heart: 

And keep me always there ! 

XXIII. 

O ! do not say thou art too old 

To be beloved by me ; 
Nought could my maiden heart withhold 

If but beloved by thee. 
Light is thy step and lithe thy form, 

Thy movements full of grace, 
And every look conveys a charm 

From thy love-winning face ; 
Thy cheek still shows its ruddy flush ; 

Thy beating heart is young; 
Thy soul still flows in fullest gush, 

Thy voice is like a song ! 

XXIV. 

The fire still in thine eye is bright, 
And yet how sweet its beam ; 

Tt warms my spirit with its light, 
And kindles like a flame ; 

Thy lip is fresh as sweetest youth, 
Still fervent is thy kiss, 



BET TIN A TO GOETHE. 255 

Its touch is like the seal of truth, 

Its impress full of bliss. 
What though a few white hairs may be 

Upon thy classic head ; 
No locks can be as dear to me, 

For none such wisdom shade ! 



XXV. 

Perchance thy brow once brighter shone, 

Shaded by thicker hair; 
Though now some blossoms may be gone, 

The fruit is gathered there. 
How beautiful the leafy tree, 

When its rich blossoms fill 
The fragrant air around ; yet, see ! 

The fruit is richer still. 
And if upon that fruitful tree 

But few green leaves remain, 
Let me like ivy cling to thee, 

And make thee fresh again ! 

XXVI. 

What others hope for that thou hast, 

In fullest promise given — 
The high endeavor of the past 

That lifts thee nearer heaven ! 
Thy name shall distant ages know, 

For Genius finds abode 



256 BKTTJNA TO GOETHE. 

Within thy broad reflective brow — 
The noblest gift of God ! 

How well it wears the poet's bays, 
The world will aye approve ; 

While all in admiration gaze, 
I bend to thee in love ! 



XXVII. 

And what I love cannot grow old, 

Though years may o'er it roll ; 
Time cannot soil it with his mold — 

Thy God-enlightened soul ! 
If years are all that keep away 

My heart from what it loves, 
Then make me old — let me be gray, 

Or what thy wish approves ; 
But do not say thou art too old 

To be beloved by me, 
My youth would give thee gems untold, 

If but beloved by thee ! 

XXVIII. 

They would not tell me of thy death ; 

O ! thou canst never die ; 
Thy body may give up its breath, 

Thy soul is in the sky. 
Goethe, ascended up to heaven, 

Thy haunts abandoned here ; 



BETT1NA TO GOETHE. 257 

To thee a higher life is given — 

A walk with angels there. 
Thy soul the joys of heaven hast proved. 

Scope has thy blissful mind ; 
Uncomprehended and unloved, 

Alone I stay behind ! 

XXIX. 

The clouds no longer dim to thee, 

Thine eyes have no more tears ; 
Thy soul now hears the harmony 

Chanted by heavenly spheres. 
The mysteries of love are known 

To thee forever now; 
My soul will come to claim its own, 

Though torn from me below. 
A solemn stillness holds my heart, 

Its aching chords are strained ; 
Willingly would I have them part 

To gain what thou hast gained ! 

XXX. 

I wandered to the sill thou'st trod — 
The house where thou hast dwelt, 

And, with mine eyes upturned to God, 
Down by thy table knelt ; 

My spirit there by thine was moved, 
In prayer — I felt them meet ; 
17 



258 BETTINA TO GOETHE. 

Our souls commingled ; they had loved ; 

Sweet was the union, — sweet! 
Thy hymns then leaped into my mouth, 

My heart and brain were full ; 
And, lovely as eternal youth, 

Thy soul was with my soul ! 



The air still brings thy breath to me, 

Flow silently it came; 
In looking round me thee I see, 

Still beautiful — the same ! 
From heaven's unmeasured heights the stars 

Stream down their light to earth, 
That light love's gentle spirit bears, 

Born of a hallowed birth. 
Thy form I see — I feel thy touch, 

And now I see thee move ; 
Thy kisses bless me on my couch, 

I am entranced in love! 

XXXII. 

Lo, lo , he comes ; ye clouds give way ! 

His mantle is of light ; 
My senses reel, the burning ray 

For mortal eye too bright. 
Dear Goethe, hear ; 'tis love that speaks ; 

Eight days since thou art dead, 



BETT1NA TO GOETHE. 



259 



And still my weary being seeks 
Somewhere to lay its head. 

God ! let me ascend above 
To Goethe — to my home ; 

Yes, yes ; I soar on wings of love, 
Dear Goethe, now I come ! 




THE TWO KISSES. 

THE FIRST. 

I heard his gentle footsteps 
Approaching where I stood ; 

how my heart was throbbing, 
Warm with the startled blood ! 

1 felt his arm just touch me — 
His lip upon my cheek ; 

I turned around to chide him, 
But, O, I could not speak ! 

His manly look was earnest, 
And warm his tender sigh ; 

His heart was on his lip, and 
His soul was in his eye ! 

We stood a moment silent, 

I could not go away ; 
He drew me nearer to him, 

I could not tell him nay ! 

And then his lips, all glowing, 
So sweetly prest my own ; 

Our souls breathed out together, 
And both our hearts were one 



THE TWO KISSES. 

THE SECOND. 

I never hoped she'd love me 

Until one pleasant eve : 
The light was dimly burning, 

Just ere I took my leave. 

My arm was half around her, 
She stood beside my chair ; 

My curious hand was rambling 
Along her loosened hair. 

My upturned face was leaning 
Upon her breast of snow ; 

She bent her sweet lips forward 
And touched them to my brow! 

That single thrilling moment 
Gave me a life of bliss, 

For still I feel the impress 
Of that sweet, sacred kiss ! 

Ah, yes; that gift, so priceless, 
Around my being wove 

A charm that binds me to her 
With fond undying love ! 



HER BEAUTY. 

Her beauty burst upon my sight 
Like morn awaking from the night, 
Or like a flower upon the wild, 
All desolate until it smiled. 

I could not tell you half the grace 
That lights each feature of her face ; 
Nor of the locks around her brow. 
Falling like shadows on the snow ! 

Her eyes are bright — this well I know 
Their rays are warm, I feel the glow; 
Her ringlets are as soft as down, 
I know not if they're black or brown. 

Her soul breathes language all unheard 
Her lips can speak without a word ; 
And in her smile how much is meant ; 
Her very hand is eloquent ! 

Her purity is her defense, 
Guarded by conscious innocence ; 
All radiant with a beaming soul, 
So blameless and so beautiful ! 



HER BEAUTY. 



263 



So many charms on her attend, 
In her so many beauties blend, 
And all so sweetly round her move, 
I know not which the most I love ! 




HER DEATH. 

I felt the hot Destroyer's breath 

Sweep o'er her couch ; 
I watched her fading until Death 

Gave the last touch. 

I gazed upon her as she lay ; 

Well did I mark ; 
'Twas my last look ; I turned away — 

The world was dark. 

They bore her to her resting place, 

Cold on a bier ; 
Hopeless and sad, with wavering pace, 

I followed there. 

Her pure remains to earth they gave 

We did not part : 
The clods that fell upon her grave 

Buried my heart ! 



I CANNOT TELL. 

I cannot tell why flowers are sweet, 
Nor why the buds should grow ; 

I know not why the rose is red, 
Nor why the violet 's blue ; 

T know not why I love you, Mary, 
And yet I know I do ! 

I know not why the sky is fair, 
Nor why the zephyrs blow ; 

I cannot tell why stars are bright, 
Nor why the sun should glow ; 

I know not why I love you, Mary, 
And yet I know I do ! 

I know that you are beautiful, 
And that your heart is true ; 

I know you have a precious soul, 
And lovely nature, too; 

I know not why I love you, Mary, 
But yet I know I do ! 

I know that you are pure and good, 
And sweet and gent\e, too ; 

I know I feel a tender joy 
Whene'er I think of you ; 

I know not why I love you, Mary, 
But yet I know I do ! 



THE QUESTION. 

Do you love me ? 

You need not tell me so, 
But make some little sweet mistake 

That I may think you do ; 
Or whatsoe'er thy lips may speak, 

Let not thy heart say, No. 

Do you love me ? 

Turn not away your ear, 
But listen to one gentle word 

(And let me come up near) ; 
And should you speak, though all unheard, 

Still let me think I liear. 

Do you love me ? 

I do not ask a vow, 
But let the half denial prove 

What I would wish to know ; 
Or, in the way you hide your love, 

Let it a little show. 

Do you love me ? 
Give me a little sign 
To show your bosom is not cold ; j 
A sudden throb within — 



THE QUESTION. 267 

A sigh, or murmur, when I fold 
It closely up to mine. 

Do you love me? 

Love need not be exprest, 
But then you might some feeling show; 

Come lean upon my breast ; — 
There, now I think I partly know, 

And I will hope the rest ! 




THE SWALLOW. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

Swallow ! why wilt thou fly away ? 

Corns rest thy weary wing with me ; 
Why go ? my heart now bids thee stay, 

For I'm a wanderer, too, like thee. 

Fate in this desert joins our lot, 
Then come and nestle near to me ; 

Together we will mourn ; fear not, 
For am I not alone like thee ? 

Perchance fate drove thee from the home 
That gave thee birth ; 'tis thus with me ; 

Then shield thee by my window, come, 
Am I not exiled, too, like thee ? 

Dost thou need aught to clothe thy nest 
Of trembling little ones near me ? 

My breath shall warm each downy breast ; 
I've seen a mother, too, like thee ! 

Canst thou see France, the distant shore, 
That home which oped its door to me ? 



THE SWALLOW. 



269 



The Branch of Hope, — go, bear it o'er, 
For am I not its bird like thee ? 

Ah! pity not, though wrongs unkind 
May close that natal door on me ; 

Our banished liberty to find, 

Have we not, too, our sky like thee ? 




THE BANQUET. 

FROM THE ARABIC. 

"YVe have a banquet wherein sorrow 
Cannot come to reach the heart ; 
Wherein all the beauties borrow 
All of nature and of art, 
And where mirth cannot depart. 

Where the sprightly song bewitches, 
Giving pleasure more than riches ; 
Where life's stream unsullied flows, 
Lulling care in soft repose; 
Where our darlings faithful prove, 
Giving peace and joy in love. 

And we have a lovely bower, 
Where the dew-drops shine at dusk; 
Where the breeze that sweeps the flower 
Brings its fragrance rich as musk! 

You see the blossoms, like the stars, 
Glittering in the firmament, 
And wondrous beauties in the flowers 
O'erladen with the sweetest scent. 



THE BANQUET. 271 

The narcissus and violet, 
Like opal with the ruby set, 
Bringing sweet objects to the mind, 
Like love's remembrance when 'tis kind. 

Ah ! you would think my love was by, 
Breathing her softest witchery ; 
With eyes that languishingly shine, 
Where all perfections sweetly join ; 
With cheeks like the pomegranate's dye, 
And locks as black as ebony. 

And wine — such as our souls desire, 
Bright as the ruby's liquid fire — 
With cheerfulness and love is given 
In goblets like the stars of heaven ! 




YE HEAVENLY POWERS. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

Who ne'er in sorrow ate his bread, 
Who ne'er has spent the weary hours 

Of night in tears upon his bed, 

He knows you not, y e Heavenly Powers ! 




SONG OF THE UNION MEN. 

Be Union men when coming morn 

Bursts from the mighty East, 
And watch until the sun is borne 

Round to the glorious West. 
Be Union men when comes the night, 

Watch faithful as the sleepless stars, 
And be the first to catch the light 

When morn again her gate unbars. 

Be Union men ; rise in your might, 

Wield the protecting rod ; 
Strike down the wrong, build up the right, 

Be just — fear none but God. 
Be Union men to South, to North, 

To East, to West, on land, on sea ; 
And in your courage, duty, worth, 

Be unto all what men should be. 

Be Union men at honor's call, 

And what is right dare do; 
Shun what is wrong, be just to all, 

Be honest, brave, and true. 
Be Union men — a brother band, 

At home, abroad, in peace, in war ; 
18 . 



274 SONG OF THE UNION MEN 

True to each State and Union stand, 
Defend the cluster — every star! 

And should some orb forget its course, 

To run a lawless race, 
Defying Heaven, there is a force 

To bring it to its place. 
Our wandering stars will yet return, 

Now rudely from their orbits hurled ; 
Again the galaxy shall burn, 

A light to guide and cheer the world ! 




HEROES OF THE CUMBERLAND. 

The heroes of the Cumberland ! 
When rebel ships environ 
They match their breasts to iron, 
A wall of flesh invincible they stand ; 
They feel the fatal shot 
And yet they falter not — 

The heroes of the Cumberland ! 

The heroes of the Cumberland ! 

The danger all unheeding, 

They fight while they are bleeding, 
Their dauntless courage needing no command 

Still, still the missiles fly, 

And rapidly they die — 
The heroes of the Cumberland ! 

The heroes of the Cumberland ! 
Upon that deck so gory 
They fall enwrapt in glory, 
Fighting a shielded foeman hand to hand; 
All mangled they expire. 
Yet, dying, still they fire — 
The heroes of the Cumberland ! 



276 HEROES OF THE CUMBERLAND. 

The heroes of the Cumberland ! 
The broken ship is sinking, 
The brine her guns are drinking — 
One broadside yet from that unshrinking band 
The ship we see no more, 
But the flag is flying o'er — 

The heroes of the Cumberland ! 




I I 



ONE. 

There is but one sky though many a star. 

Each lighting its high abode ; 
There is but one sun in his flaming car, 

One sky, one sun, and one God! 
In the land of our fathers there never can be, 
All over the soil and over the sea, 

But one bright flag — the flag of the free ! 

Go wide o'er the wave, wherever you roam, 
The sky and our flag are above; 

Go far through the land, 'tis ever our home, 
Beneath the broad flag that we love! 

In the land of our fathers there never can be, 

All over the soil and over the sea, 

But one bright flag — the flag of the free ! 

As long as the wave shall flow by the strand, 
Or ocean smile back to the sun, 

As long as the sky shall bend o'er the land, 
The country we love shall be one ! 

In the land of our fathers there never can be, 

All over the soil and over the sea, 

But one bright flag — the flag of the free ! 



27; 



ONE. 



Then give us one flag with many a star, 
One flag for the soil and the wave ; 

One sun to give light in peace and in war, 
One country, one flag, or one grave ! 

In the land of our fathers there never can be, 

All over the soil and over the sea, 

But one bright flag — the flag of the free ! 




7^ 



THE SOLDIER'S BURIAL. 

Where shall we lay our comrade down, 

Where shall the brave one sleep ? 
The battle's past, the victory won, 
Now we have time to weep. 

Bury him on the mountain's brow, 

Where he fought so well ; 
Bury him where the laurels grow ; 
There he bravely fell ! 

There lay him in his generous blood, 

For there first comes the light 
From skies that never wear a cloud, 
And lingers last at night. 

Bury him on the mountain's brow, 

Where he fought so well ; 
Bury him where the laurels grow ; 
There he bravely fell ! 

What though no flow'ret there may bloom 

To scent the chilly air, — 
The skies shall stoop to wrap his tomb, 
The stars will watch him there. 
Bury him on the mountain's brow, 
Where he fought so well ; 



280 THE SOLDIER'S BURIAL. 

Bury him where the laurels grow ; 
There he bravely fell ! 

What though no stone may mark his grave, 

Yet fame shall tell his race 
Where sleeps the one so true, so brave, 
And God will find the place. 

Bury him on the mountain's brow 

Where he fought so well ; 
Bury him where the laurels grow ; 
There he bravely fell ! 




AVE. 

We 're a wise and happy three, 
I, myself, and me, 

We're a We ! 

I wakes up at ten per morning, 

Gazes on myself; 
Me, aroused, begins adorning 

We — the lucky elf. 
We're a wise and happy three, 

I, myself, and me, 

We 're a We ! 

I sits down and writes a critique. 

Me an' myself look on ; 
Philosophic or poetic — 

Now the author's done! 
We're a wise and happy three, 

I, myself, and me, 

AVe 're a We ! 

Me an' myself are little thought of, 

I, they all despise, 
Yet they think (unless he 's bought off) 

That the we is wise. 



282 



WE. 



We 're a wise and happy three, 
I myself, and me, 

We're a We! 

Who the I, myself, and me are, 

All know as we pass, 
Never dreaming that the three are 

But a single ass. 
We 're a wise and happy three, 

I, myself, and me, 

We're a We! 




LOST ANNIP]. 

Gale Morey has gone away, away, 

Gale Morey has left his home : 
They know not where Gale Morey has gone, 

Nor when Gale Morey will come. 

They go to his fields, they go to his Hall, 
But they do not find him there ; 

They search o'er hill, they search in the dale, 
But find him not anywhere. 

And Annie Ahdare has left her home, 

She has gone away, away ; 
Thev know not where sweet Annie has gone, 

Nor how long Annie will stay. 

They search on the hill, and they search in 
the dale, 

They search for her everywhere ; 
They find the maidens that live in the vale, 

But find not Annie Ahdare. 

O what is that in the grassy pond, 

As dark as the cloud of ni^ht ? 
'Tis long soft hair all tangled there, 

That grew on a forehead white ! 



284 LOST ANNIE. 

It was in that pond, all turbid and green, 
Where Annie Ahdare was found ; 

And when she went there, poor Annie Ahdare, 
More than one being was drowned ! 



Gale Morey has gone away, away, 

Gale Morey has left his home ; 
They know not where Gale Morey has gone, 

Nor when Gale Morey will come. 

They go to his fields, they go to his Hall, 
But they do not find him there ; 

They search as before to the wide sea-shore, 
But find him not anywhere ; 

They cross the main, but they search in vain, 
They find him not anywhere. 

And Annie Ahdare has left her home, 

She has gone away, away ; 
And they will wonder and watch in vain, — 

A long time Annie will stay ! 

Yes, Annie Ahdare has left her home, 

She has gone forever more ; 
Sweet Annie so fond was found in the pond, 

And buried upon the shore ; 
Now low lies her head, for Annie is dead, 

And will come to us never more ! 



THE SONG OF THE OLD. 

The older the wine the better it is. 

Then let the full cup be rife ; 
Time frees it from all its acid and lees. 

And so of the wine of life. 
Though I shall never be young again, 
The sweetest joys of life remain, 
All freed from trouble and toil and pain ! 

The older the harp the richer the tone. 

Then ring out its fullest chords ; 
So lips we love and have longest known 

Can utter the sweetest words. 
Though I shall never be young again, 
The sweetest joys of life remain, 
All freed from trouble and toil and pain ! 

The older the mind the truer the sense, 

And larger and brighter its sphere ; 
In youth it shows but a meteor's glance, 

In age 'tis a beaming star. 
Though I shall never be young again, 
The sweetest joys of life remain, 
All freed from trouble and toil and pain ! 



286 THE SONG OF THE OLD. 

The older the heart the sweeter the bliss, 

And fuller of worth and love ; 
Though beauty and youth awhile may please, 

'Tis truth we at last approve. 
Though I shall never be young again, 
The sweetest joys of life remain, 
All freed from trouble and toil and pain ! 

All things that are good, the older they grow 

The purer and sweeter they are ; 
Though Time may pilfer a lock from the brow 

He leaves something better there. 
Though I shall never be young again, 
The sweetest joys of life remain, 
All freed from trouble and toil and pain ! 




FIFTY. 

i. 

Well, well ; the times are sadly changed ! 

I'm losing all my friends ; 
Some false, some dead, or worse — estranged, 
Some met with other ends. 
Tis said our friendship must be kept in order — 
Replenished, like a wardrobe, or a larder. 



Men have grown cold and hypocritical, 

Full of pomposity ; 
And they are dull — they have no wit at 
all, 
Nor generosity. 
The church is filling up with knaves and sin- 
ners ; 
(They never give us wine at Sunday dinners) ! 



in. 



Young men rush on for place and gain, 
And scarcely can be civil ; 



288 FIFTY. 

Now even boys in 'teens are men, 
Impudent as the d — 1 ! 
There was a time — it took a rental then, 
Or rank, or cash, to make a gentleman. 



IV. 

And women — gaudy as the rainbow, 

Long since upon the stage, 
(Uncertain things !), never attain to 
Any particular age. 
While everbody else is growing older, 
They are only getting uglier and bolder! 



And certain pretty ladies shun me ; 

They think perhaps I know 
Something about their loves, — upon my 
Veracity I do ! 
They carry up their stately heads like steeples ! 
Well ; other people's business isn't other peo- 
ples ! 



VI. 

Handsome and bountiful plump mothers 

Show me their fine tall sons, 
(Confound my fortune — they're another's), 

And bring their little ones ; 



FIFTY. 289 

I take a darling up, it cries with fear, 
The mother smiles : " Kiss the old gentleman, 
my dear ! " 



VII. 

Young ladies sit around my knees, 

And clamber for my neck : 
Indeed they do quite as they please, — 
Such liberties they take. 
" Within the limits of becoming modesty," 
They grant me small sweet favors rather odd 
to see ! 



VIII. 

Some of the pretty younger misses, 

That many a time I've dandled, 
Begin to shun me with their kisses, 
And scarcely can be handled ; 
I'm sure I know not what the matter is, — 
They're growing fond of certain little flatter- 
ies. 



IX. 



I'm thought a good old Santa Claus 
For other people's young ones, 

To fill their stockings (and their maws), 
Especially the long ones. 
19 



290 FIFTY. 

They love me, — I forgive their peccadilloes : 
(Alas ! that I have none to lay upon my pil- 
lows) ! 

x. 

Well, I have had my joy and sadness, 

My losses and my gains ; 
Perchance a little of love's madness 
Has tingled through my veins ; 
And, take it all in all, I've lived in clover ; 
But now, somehow, those pleasant days are 
over ! 

XI. 

Yes, yes ; the times are changed indeed. 

How fast the years have hurried ; 
My prime is past, friendship has fled, 
And love, alas, lies buried. 
What? are these tear-drops in my eyes? Nay 

nay ; 
But let me dash the foolish things away ! 



XII. 



Yet to wipe tear-drops from the eyes 

Dries not the source within ; 
The inner soul still weeps and cries, 
All voiceless and unseen ! 
But then I have been happy ; still I'm thrifty \ 
The truth is, though, that, — well, yes ; that I 
— I - — am — Fifty ! 



THE OLD MAN. 

On earth I have finished my part, 

My years and my pleasures have sped ; 

The grave is my only resort, 
Already too long I've delayed : 

For summer has gone from my heart, 
And winter is cold on my head. 

No power my doom can avert, 

The leaves of my life-tree are dead ; 

It cannot new blossoms impart, 

The limbs and the trunk are decayed : 

For summer has gone from my heart, 
And winter is cold on my head. 

My spring-time was troubled and short, 
And summer denied me its shade ; 

My autumn soon glimmered athwart, 
Its foliage lies strown in the sflade : 

For summer has gone from my heart, 
And winter is cold on my head. 

My friendships have left but a smart, 
And love's sweet enchantments have fled 

I'm waiting for Death with his dart 
To lay me where mortals are laid : 



292 THE OLD MAN. 

For summer has gone from my heart, 
And winter is cold on my head. 

In childhood, deluded, we start ; 

Hope smiles on the tears that we shed; 
Tears fall on our hopes ; they depart, 

Till hopeless and lonely we tread : 
For summer has gone from my heart, 

And winter is cold on my head. 

Come, bear my remains to the mart, 
And let them repose with the dead ; 

The flesh and the spirit must part, — 
These words were the last that he said 

For summer had gone from his heart, 
And winter was cold on his head ! 



QUESTIONINGS. 

Oh, give me wings to fly 

From this dull sphere, 
That I may soar along the sky 

In ambient air. 

Immortal thought confined, 

Longs to be free ; 
Why should the dust deny the mind 

Its liberty. 

Why should the earth so weigh 

Upon the heart, 
Why should the spirit cling to clay, 

Fearing to part. 

Why should the soul remain 

Pent up in flesh, 
With hell to shun and heaven to gain - 

Is the thought rash ? 



& 



The soul would not delay, 

Dust keeps it down ; 
It longs to reach the starry way 

And wear the crown. 



294 QUESTIONINGS. 

It fears not death's cold spear 

Nor hollow skull, 
For death is but the body's fear 

To lose the soul. 

Then give me wings to fly 
From this dull sphere, 

That I may soar along the sky, 
Immortal there ! 




SLEEP. 

I. 

How beautiful is sleep ! 
The tranquil messenger of peace, 
That steals with feathery foot amid the strife, 
And bids even raging battles cease, — 
Renewing wasted life. 
How beautiful is sleep! 

ii. 

How beautiful is sleep ! 
The infant on a mother's breast, — 
The strong man on ambition's iron bed, — 
In this sweet solace find their rest, — 

Alike here bow the head. 
Plow beautiful is sleep ! 



in. 

How beautiful is sleep! 
The hungry, fainting one may sink 
Upon his dreary couch ; and he who pants 



296 SLEEP. 

For cooling founts, in dreams may drink, 
Forgetful of his wants. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 



How beautiful is sleep ! 
The bleeding slave forgets the lash, 
And weary labor finds its sweet repose ; 
And even wrong's deep rankling gash 
A little while may close. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 



How beautiful is sleep ! 
The haggard wretch condemed to die 
Still finds it nature's refuge, even in crime 
And in forgetfulness may lie 
Unpunished for a time. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 

VI. 

How beautiful is sleep ! 
Passion forgets the hasty word, 
Envy and hatred here their malice lose, 

And anger drops his whetted sword, 

While love his strength renews. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 



SLEEP. 297 



VII. 



How beautiful is sleep ! 
Sweet Lethean draught for every ill, 
balm for sadness, sorrow, pain, and grief; 
And aching wounds that will not heal 
At least may find relief. 
How beautiful is sleep! 



How beautiful is sleep ! 
In troubled hours it brings us peace : 
In darkness, light : dreaming, on faith's strong 
wing 
We rise to Heaven's exalted bliss, 
That, waking, leaves no sting. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 



How beautiful is sleep ! 
It comes when even hopa is gone — 
While mercy yet is lingering in the skies 
To wrap and soothe the weary one 
A moment ere he dies. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 



298 SLEEP. 



X. 



How beautiful is sleep I 
Sole shelter from unceasing strife, 
The first relief that soothes us at our birth, 
The only rest along a troubled life, 
And last repose of Earth. 
How beautiful is sleep ! 




SONG OF AN ATOM. 



Deep in the azure, 
Infinite measure, 
Made by God's pleasure, 
I am an atom floating away ! 



Ii. 



Suns are there shining, 
Stars are divining, 
Planets combining — 
I am an atom floating away 



in. 

Winds whence and whither, 
Blow hence and hither, 
Leaves fall and wither, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 



IV. 



Storm-clouds are flying, 
Bosoms are sighing, 



300 SONG OF AN ATOM. 

Living and dying, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 



Birds are there singing, 
Insects are winging, 
Flowers are springing, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 

VI. 

Science or history, 
To-morrow or yesterday, 
All are b ut mystery, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 

VII. 

All that man cherishes, 
That must he bury his ; 
See, how it perishes ! — 
I am an atom floating away! 

VIII. 



Time is fast flitting, 
Fate the web knitting, 
Death not forgetting, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 



SONG OF AN ATOM. 301 



Darkness is brooding, 
Light is foreboding, 
Care is corroding, — 
I am an atom floating away! 



x. 

Head, hands, employing, 
Winning, enjoying, 
Keeping, destroying, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 



Doing, undoing, 
Loving and wooing, 
Weeping and suing, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 



XII. 

Giving, receiving, 
Doubting, believing, 
Fearing and grieving, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 



302 



SONG OF AN ATOM. 



XIII. 



Morn, noon, and even, 
Stricken, forgiven, 
Hoping for Heaven, — 
I am an atom floating away ! 




&$>$* 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 



When sinking Phoebus with his lingering ray 
The leaf was kissing ; when the hill was bright, 
Just as he bids a last adieu to-day, 
And day is softly mingling into night ; 
At that rich hour which lovers doth invite, 
When they are tangled in the silken net, 
(Though skies are moonless yet their eyes give 

light), 
Ere Heaven's glad dew the thirsty flower had 

wet — 
Hard by the woodland — Leon and Fidelia 

met! 



Her raven ringlets in profusion flowed, 
Though her fair brow they did but half con- 
ceal ; 
He brushed them off and raised the cheek that 

glowed, 
To imprint a kiss, — the lover's sacred seal ; 
And, too, their absence did full half reveal 
A pair of orbs, that did but fairer show 
From contrast, for in truth they could appeal, 



304 LEON AND FIDELIA. 

In their chaste whiteness, to the untouched 

snow : 
With such a heart and lover could she answer 

No? 



in. 



Young Leon came, and often came, but yet 
He never spoke of love, though in his tone 
There something was she never could forget ; 
And soon her yearning heart was all his own. 
She, save with Leon, wished to be alone ; 
And he — although his heart could speak, his 

tongue 
Could never mould the words — when she was 

gone 
Would slowly walk in solitude along 
Her favorite haunts, and chaunt some plaintive 

song ! 



IV. 



What 'twas to her how he did speak or look, 
Or where he roamed, or what to him befell, 
Or why she in his presence pleasure took, 
She often pondered o'er, but ne'er could tell ; 
Or why she wandered over hill and dell, 
Or rambled by the little winding brook, 
To pull the flowers she knew he loved so well, 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 305 

But thus she did — and placed them in the 

nook 
Of her fair breast, perchance to win her Leon's 

look! 



When he was gone, she never could forget 
The little things that he had said and done ; 
And after parting she would oft regret 
That he had gone ; she felt she was alone. 
This sigh would 'scape her lips — " O, he has 

gone." 
Then she would blush, and wonder what beset 
Her foolish heart to think of only one. 
She to herself would say, " I will forget ; " 
And then would think, " Tis late, and Leon 

comes not yet ! " 

VI. 

'Twas strange that she should always fear 
Some sad mishap to him when he was gone ; 
She would not own 'twas love, and yet so dear 
"Was he to her that she would weep alone. 
She would go to meet him, for well was known 
To her the very paths he trod whene'er away ; 
And well she marked the slow descending sun 
That closed (if he was gone) the weary day, 
Right glad to see the last departing ray ! 
20 



306 LEON AND FIDELIA. 



VII. 



Ere Leon came she knew not what was love, 
But when he often came — when o'er the hill 
To gather flowers together they would rove, 
Her gentle bosom felt a new-born thrill ; 
And then her love burst like the little rill, 
Nor dreamed she still that it would grow so 

strong ; 
But all her heart and soul it soon did fill, 
And, like a torrent, wore its way along. 
If fault it was, it was her careless father's 

wrong. 

VIII. 

For when he came he did not bid him go, 
But kindly talked of him — that he was brave ; 
With strong Achilles he could bend the bow, 
And was at home alike on steed or wave ; 
Yet, like most fathers, when too late, did rave 
Because his daughter had obeyed the love 
That moved her heart — the law that God did 

grave 
Deep in her soul, and through her bosom wove. 
She to her father thus her innocence did prove : 

IX. 

" Father ! " said she, " that winds along the 

grove, 
Bursting beneath the base of yonder hill, — 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 307 

Where spring-birds warble out their songs of 

love, — 
Dost thou see running there the little rill? 
How easy couldst thou mark its course at will ; 
But let it flow afar until it brings 
Full many a stream with deepening course — 

until 
The current rushes from a thousand springs, 
As mad Niagara his pouring torrent flings; 

x. 

" Then couldst thou bid the current not to flow ? 
Couldst thou then set its bounds ? or wouldst 

thou deem 
It lost to say — ' No farther shalt thou go ! ' 
Grand Mississippi ! first a little stream 
From Itasca, 'neath Hyperborean beam, 
Hid in the mountains, trickling at its source, — 
Father ! look thou at that ; and dost thou dream 
That thou canst now obstruct it in its course ? 
If checked it would but rise and gain redoubled 

force ! " 



XI. 

Ah, who can answer argument like this, 

Or what can hush the heart once roused to 

love ? 
Niagara of passions ! the precipice 



308 LEON AND FIDELIA. 

To which our pulses like deep rivers move — 
Resistless as the power of fabled Jove — 
O'er which we take the leap, to sail in bliss 
Or sink in ruin. O, how vain will prove 
A father's words. Let fathers ope their eyes ; 
In love's affairs their daughters are more wise ! 



XII. 

Night-fall ; a voice ■ — " My boat is 'neath the 

hill, 
And here's an arm that oft has wielded oar 
(Put on this robe to guard thee from the chill), 
And now 'twill wield it — stronger than before ; 
Come, come my love, 'tis waiting at the shore ; 
My faithful Koo chee, with his watchful eye, 
Guards all in safety ; quickly, 'tis the hour 
To cross the river ere the moon is high." 
She pauses, weeps, ponders, and hesitates to fly ! 



Koo-chee, the Redman, who once ruled this 

land, 
And o'er its range free as the deer did go, — 
Chief of a proud, a brave and generous band, 
He sought the plain, or where the wild trees 

grow, 
And too, perchance, sprang in his light canoe, 
To fleetly skim the water's dimpled face 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 309 

With master skill ; no other one can do 
This feat, or handle paddle with a grace 
To match this once so proud but now degraded 
race. 

XIV. 

But now another flag floats o'er the scene, 
Whose stars are mirrored in the stream and 

lake ; 
Another boat is there, but still, I ween, 
(His father's bones unwilling to forsake), 
Some lone dejected one may lightly break 
The placid surface, which in yore was broke 
But by his paddle, or the wild duck's wake ; 
Though now that paddle plies with fainter 

stroke 
Than erst, ere his unbending neck had felt the 

yoke! 



xv. 

And still she paused. He at a floating cloud, 
Then on the earth, did look ; and to and fro — 
As hopes and fears upon his mind did crowd — 
He walked with heedless tread, dejected, slow: 
" Thou sayst, Fidelia, that thy answer 's No. 
Well, if thy father's prison, jailer Kate, 
More pleasure gives than freedom, Leon too, 
Or if my love is less than his fell hate — 
Then go." " With thee, my Leon, whatsoe'er 
our fate !" 



310 LEON AND FIDELIA. 



XVI. 



They leave the shore ; their canoe skims along ; 
The waves grow rough, heave high, and foam, 

but yet 
They weary not ; their nerves are doubly strong 
As dangers thick their watery path beset ; 
Billows recede, and now they lash and wet 
Them in their faces ; Koo-chee plies the oar, 
And Leon labors still ; now many a jet 
Streams o'er the boat ; louder the surges roar ; 
Soon they must sink or gain the wished-for 

shore ! 

XVII. 

Higher, more rough, the troubled waters swell : 
The frail boat trembles as she meets the wave ; 
The winds howl loud — perchance their funeral 

knell, 
Perchance the stream may be their common 

grave. 
Yet still they ply the oar and nobly brave 
The dangers as they thicken ; now the moon 
Withholds her ray, then bursts again, to save 
From some rude rock or wave ; but ah, too 

soon 
She hides, and leaves the scene darker than 

ere she shone ! 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 311 



XVIII. 



The boat half filled, the trusty oar hath broke, 
With lusty arm he did with force so urge; 
All hope is gone. He then with firmness 

spoke : 
u Our little bark can never meet the surge. 
All efforts now to danger but converge. 
I'll leave the boat, my fate whate'er it be ; 
Though on my ear methinks now breaks my 

dirge." 
Then rose to leap ; — " But save this maid, 

Koo-chee." 
She clasped his neck, and shrieked "I'll 

perish, too, with thee ! " 



The Indian spoke : " Koo-chee no squaw, no 

home ; 
His father's bones are stirred by white man's 

plow ; 
His fires are quenched, no wigwam rears its 

dome ; 
The deer is fled, his bow hangs useless now; 
The warrior's wreath no longer decks his brow ; 
Then Koo-chee die, and Leon take his oar, 
And through the waters force the chemeris 

prow ." 



312 LEON AND FIDELIA. 

This said, he sprang — vain hope — to reach 

the shore ; 
And soon the faithful Indian sank to rise no 

more ! 

xx. 

Fidelia swooned ; her lovely cheeks were wet 
With tears for poor Koo-chee, to nobly die 
That she perchance might live for Leon yet. 
And Leon's heart was full, nor his cheek dry ; 
He wept unconscious that the swell rolled high, 
Or of his danger ; he at length awakes 
To know their fate depends upon the ply 
Of his lone paddle, which he quickly takes, 
And meets the sur^e that high around his 
boat still breaks ! 



XXI. 

Thus wave by wave he meets the whelming 

force ; 
The boat, some lighter since Koo-chee is lost, 
Yet still sinks deep ; and on its mountain 

course, 
As 'twere a straw, from wave to wave is tost. 
Nearer and nearer to the rocky coast 
His hardy sinews force the chemerts prow. 
Helpless Fidelia lies — his pride, his boast ; 
If he has strength he will exhaust it now 
To save her or to die — this is his silent vow ! 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 313 



XXII. 



Thus long he toiled 'twixt hope and dark de- 
spair ; 
At length the Island's towering trees appear, 
And soon the flag that floats in triumph there 
Streams to their view. Hope now has banished 

fear; 
Their eyes are raised unclouded by a tear. 
O, pleasure sweet, for those who nobly dare 
Some thrilling deed for all they hold most dear, 
When the great danger 's o'er and all is fair, 
And those who pay them with their hearts are 
smiling near. 

XXIII. 

A few more strokes with well plied oar, they 

find 
A playful wave that gently rocks the boat ; 
The storm, that in the cave is now confined, 
Sends o'er the breeze a soft and murmuring 

note ; 
Slow on the harmless wave the bark doth float, 
Or rises on the rolling waters, light 
As a swallow skims the smoother surface o'er. 
On, on they move, now hope is growing bright, 
Fainter and fainter sinks the distant roar, 
As near and nearer they approach the wel- 
come shore. 



314 LEON AND FIDELIA. 

XXIV. 

The shore — they are safe ! The tired waters 

rest. 
The little boat upon the wave doth sleep 
Calm as a babe upon a mother's breast, — 
A breast that with affection flows as deep 
As doth the dark blue sea. With joy they 

weep ; 
Now warmly to his bosom she is prest ; 
She calls Koo-chee, but on the waters sweep, 
Giving no answer in their deep unrest ; 
They mourn for one who sleeps beneath the 

watery waste ! 

XXV. 

O that our lives ne'er knew a rougher scene 
Than that which ripples o'er an infant's breast ; 
And those we love, on whom the heart would 

lean, 
True as the bosom where the babe doth rest, — 
The softest pillow that a head e'er prest ! 
Then would our sea a mother's bosom seem, 
Our bark a home, by wooing winds carest, 
The storm a gentle breeze, kissing the stream, 
Our sails the wings of love, our voyage, a 

pleasant dream ! 



LEON AND FIDELIA. 315 



XXVI. 



The arm now rested that before had dared 
The very elements, and now the oar is still 
That fought the surge ; the tiny boat that 

reared 
Upon the wave, perchance that it might fill, 
Now scarcely moves, save gently rocked at will. 
The roaring of the storm is heard no more, 
Or dwindled to the murmuring of the rill ; 
The boat is safely tethered to the shore, 
The crew (save one) relates the tale of dan- 



XXVII. 

He told the story of his love ; it flushed 
His manly cheek ; then asked her hand — her 

heart. 
Her lips were still, but quickly she had blushed 
A maid's consent. Tis said. They never part. 
But were their faithful hearts ne'er joined 

before ? 
Ah, yes, in heaven ; but now, on earth they're 

one. 
He took her hand to press it o'er and o'er, 
Gave it a kiss, and called it all his own, 
And breathed a thankful prayer to God's pro- 
tecting throne! 



POOR JANE. 



Many a sorrow is breathed in song, 
And many in silence borne ; 

And many a story of love and wronj 
Is told of maid forlorn. 



But never was tale so sad before, 
And never was tale so true ; 

Come and sit clown by the cottage door, 
And I will tell it to you : 



in. 



George Malcor lived in his country seat, 

The lawn was green and wide ; 
The walks were long through bower and gate, 

The trees waved high in their pride. 



POOR JANE. 317 



White marble stood in his stately halls, 
And music awoke her strings ; 

Old paintings were hung upon his walls 
Of famous and lovely things. 



His fields were rich, his lands were broad, 
His cattle grazed by the rills ; 

His horses were swift along the road, 
Flocks bleated upon his hills. 



VI. 



He had white silver and yellow gold, 
And bonds on the toiler's hands ; 

And all who served him, young or old, 
Bent clown to his hard commands. 



VII. 



He rode a steed as fleet as a hind, 
Or rolled on glittering wheels ; 

He sailed the seas with fortune's wind, 
And whirled where the mountain reels. 



318 POOR JANE. 



VIII. 



He rode by day and he rode by night, 
He travelled both far and near ; 

Wherever he went in his lordly plight 
His friends gave him goodly cheer. 



IX. 



He came and went, or stayed at his ease, 

In city, at home, in the wild ; 
He sought and won whatever would please 

Where riches and beauty smiled. 



Near by his house stood a lowly cot, 

Jane Heartly resided there ; 
Hard was her work and humble her lot, 

But the girl was good and fair. 



XI. 



Her father and mother were weak and old, 
She had no brother nor friend ; 

They had no silver, they had no gold, 
Her labor their lives maintained. 



POOR JANE. 319 



XII. 



They had no fields, they had no lawn. 

No fleeces upon the hill ; 
A gentle cow at eve and dawn, 

Replenished their tidy pail. 



XIII. 



Time sped. The mansion house was gay 
For there the brilliant thronged; 

But the cot was cheerless night and day- 
No comforts to that belonged. 



XIV. 



George Mai cor was born to lands and treasure, 

Jane Heartly was born to toil ; 
George Malcor pursued his own high pleasure, 

Jane Heartly was left to moil. 



xv. 



She had affection, he had mind, 
His words could well deceive ; 

He was accomplished, she was kind, 
Her goodness made her believe, 



320 POOR JANE. 



XVI. 

One chilly morn poor Jane was found 
With pain and care opprest ; 

She lay upon the cold bare ground, — 
A child was on her breast. 



In natal beauty there it lay, 

A God-created boy ; 
A moment she wiped her tears away 

And smiled with a mother's joy. 



XVIII. 

Alone she suffered her agony, — 
Her parents had died of grief; 

Afar the night winds bore her cry, 
But no one brought her relief. 



XIX. 

No garment was there to clothe the child 
And cover its dimpling charms ; 

Night came again, the storm blew wild, 
She shielded it in her arms. 



POOR JANE. 321 



XX. 



Next morn its innocent soul had gone 
Where angels are pure and kind ; 

A frantic shriek, a pitiful moan, — 
The mother had lost her mind. 



XXI. 



She clung to her baby night and day, 
And carried it everywhere ; 

Its flesh all rotted and fell away 
Till its little bones were bare. 



XXII. 



She wandered around through heat and cold, 

And babbled of everything ; 
But the name of one was never told, 

As thus she would rave and sing : — 



XXIII. 

" why comes he not to the shaded bower, 

Or down to the trysting tree ? 
I spread the couch and bring love's flower, 

O why comes he not to me? 
21 



322 POOR JANE. 



XXIV. 



" tell me, where is my love to-night ? 

tell me, where can he be ? 
The moon is up and the stars are bright, 

But he comes no more to me ! 



XXV. 



" O come to me in the shaded bower, 

come to the trysting tree ; 
I spread the couch and bring love's flower, 

O come, O come unto me." 



XXVI. 

She would not cease her weariless tongue, 

But babbled of everything ; 
Now she would weep o'er her bitter wrong, 

And now her wild laugh would ring. 



XXVII. 

But her voice grew weak like a dismal sound 
That comes from a distant shore ; 

It died away as if under ground, 
Until it was heard no more. 



POOR JANE. 323 



XXVIII. 



And still her dead babe was in her grasp, 
Still she would give it the breast ; 

But at >last her arms forgot their clasp, — 
For death had called her to rest. 



XXIX. 

George Malcor lives in his country seat, 

The lawn is green and wide ; 
The walks are long through bower and gate, 

The trees wave high in their pride. 

XXX. 

White marble stands in his stately halls, 

And music awakes her strings ; 
Old paintings still hang upon his walls 

Of famous and lovely things. 



XXXI. 

His fields are rich, his lands are broad, 
His cattle graze by the rills ; 

His horses are swift along the road, 
And flocks still bleat on his hills. 



324 POOR JANE. 



XXXII. 

He has white silver and yellow gold, 
And bonds on the toilers' hands; 

And all who serve him, young or old, 
Still bend to his hard commands. 



XXXIII. 

And still the mansion-house is gay, 
Still there the brilliant throng ; 

But the cot is silent night and day, 
No inmates to that belong. 



XXXIV. 

He rides a steed as fleet as a hind, 
And rolls on glittering wheels ; 

He sails the seas* on fortune's wind, 
And whirls where the mountain reels. 



xxxv. 

He rides by day and he rides by night, 
He travels both far and near ; 

Wherever he goes, whatever his plight, 
His friends still offer him cheer. 



POOR JANE. 325 



XXXVI. 



He goes and comes in search of his ease, 
In city, at home, in the wild ; 

But whether he comes or goes he sees 
Poor Jane with her skeleton child. 



XXXVII. 

Wherever he travels in search of his rest, 

If he fly on a falcon's wings, 
To north, to south, to east, to west, 

He hears her as thus she sings : — 



xxxviii. 

" I've changed the bed of love for the grave, 

Now lonely and cold I lie ; 
The chamber of death is a dreary cave, 

And the night without a sky. 



XXXIX. 

"The brain in my head has turned to clay, 

My heart is a bloody clot; 
Deep in the grave they have laid away 

My beautiful form to rot. 



326 POOR JANE. 



" I've spread love's couch in this dreary cave 
Where the long night has no sky ; 

O bring my lover down into the grave 
That he with my corpse may lie ! " 



XLI. 

And still poor Jane with her skeleton child 

Is all that he can see ; 
And all he hears is her song so wild, — 

" Come down in the grave to me ! " 



XLII. 

And when he sleeps he sees in a dream 
That in the grave there are three, 

And feels her embrace, and hears her scream 
" Come here with my babe and me ! " 



XLIII. 

And still he is travelling far and near, 

But whether on land or wave, 
He never can fly, though on wings of fear, 

From Jane, "her child, and the grave ! 



POOR JANE. 327 



XL IV, 



And still he dreams in his troubled sleep, 
Then startles and wakes, and moans ; 

In the wildest night, though the storm may 
sweep, 
They can hear his dismal groans. 



XLV. 

He shrieks aloud in his dire alarms — 

" O, yes ; I will come to thee, 
Down to the dust, with the bones and worms, 

In the grave that holds the three." 



XL VI. 

No more in his house can he abide, 
Neither by night nor day ; 

He has no joy with a living bride, — 
For Jane will not go away. 



XL VII. 

And thus he has wandered many a year, 
Till now he is old and gray ; 

Wherever he stops poor Jane is there, 
And goes with him on the way. 



328 POOR JANE. 



XL VIII. 



And thus he must ever wander and grieve, 
And shriek out his midnight cry ; 

One moment in peace he cannot live, 
In peace he can never die ! 



XLIX. 



'Twas thus I heard the sorrowful tale 

Of maiden left forlorn, 
And of faithless lover's pitiful wail 

That softened even their scorn ; 



For never was tale so sad before, 
And never was tale so true; 

They told it to me at the cottage door, 
And I have told it to you ! 



THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 



Death ! Life and Death ! mysterious themes, 

That occupy the mind of man. 
How strange ! In wildest thoughts and dreams 
Their range is but a span 

That rests upon a breath, 
Trembling 'twixt Death and Life, and Life and 
Death ! 



ii. 

We live and die, and rise and fall, 
By laws which all things must obey. 

In death, and life, God governs all ; 
His breath moves o'er the sea, 

And warms the teeming land ; 

Leaves fall, and souls arise, at His command ! 



The earth, a sand, a mite, or mastodon, 

The grass, a tree, all things that are, or seem, 



330 THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 

But teach the lesson of The One ; 
And each may form a theme 
That stoutest minds appall, 
While God's all-seeing eye embraces all ! 



IV. 

Motion and Rest, and Death and Life, — 
These throughout nature are His laws: 

They bring sweet harmony from strife, 
And sing the great First Cause. 
Through all the forms of earth 

Birth ends in death, and death begins in birth. 



All things that live on earth must die ; 

Death claims with life an equal share. 
His shaft flies not in cruelty, 

And oft 'twere pain to spare. 
For death how many long ; 
If life be right, then death cannot be wrong ! 

VI. 

Humanity upon the earth 

Is God's expression of His presence, 
The sign of our immortal birth, 

And shrine of His own essence ; 
The crowning work of God, — 
Eternal mind impressed upon a clod ! 



THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 331 



VII. 



The spirit's marriage with the clay, 
High hopes with low necessities, 

To live in union but a day, 
And strive till the dust dies 

And leaves the spirit free — 

To all, save God, is a deep mystery! 

VIII. 

'Tis meet that man should not know this, 
For knowledge is not always gain. 

To know, indeed, is sometimes bliss, 
But O, how often pain. 

The lonorino- soul must wait; 

Man's present knowledge fits his present state. 

IX. 

We know our life but not our death ; 

None may be conscious when he dies ; 
He lives, but naught beyond the breath 
Survives, save in the skies ; 

There is the spirit's home, 
There mortal dust and death can never come. 



x. 

Life is the soul's imprisonment, 
And only death can hence retrieve 



332 THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 

From thrall, and kindly he is sent ; 
The soul begins to live 

But when the body dies, 
For death on earth is life within the skies ! 



XI. 

The soul is cumbered with the dust; 

It hangs a weight upon the spirit, 
Which death alone removes ; then must 

The breath which we inherit, 
Like vapor pass away ; 
God takes the soul and leaves to death the clay. 



XII. 

Death is the messenger of God, 

That comes to bid us to His presence ; 
The clay, perchance, may feel the rod ; 
He may not touch the essence ; 
That finds a happier state ; 
God sends, — death never comes too soon nor 
late ! 



XIII. 

As longs the weary one for rest, 
Or prisoner for his liberty, 

We go to live among the blest, 

Where woe and pain can never be. 



THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 333 

Exiles no more we roam, 
But find above our everlasting home ! 



As sleep is sweet at close of day, 

So death is at the end of life. 
The Lethe of sleep but rests the clay, 

While death relieves from strife 

The soul which cannot die ; 

Its night is time, its day, eternity ! 

xv. 

Death is not sleep ; it is a waking 
That knows no sleep nor death again, 

Where light upon the soul is breaking 
Which, bright from suns that wane 
No more, shines with a ray 

Brighter and brighter in eternal day ! 

XVI. 

And there is beauty even in death ; 

He comes unto the good to bring 
A crown, — a bright unfading wreath ; 

His frown and mortal sting 
Are in a moment past, 
While the new life he gives shall ever last. 



334 THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 



XVII. 

All things are good before God's eye ; 

Evil is man's own blindness. All 
On earth, in ocean, air, and sky, 

From birth, until their fall, 
Receive alike His care ; 
The soul ascending, or the falling hair ! 



XVIII. 

Pain is the teacher that commands, 
And bids us shun whate'er is bad; 

The rod that 's wielded by the hands 
Of God. At first 'tis gently laid 

Upon us, without threat or terror, 

Then heavier, heavier, till we shun the error. 

XIX. 

And even pain itself is bliss ; 

To human life 'tis kindly given 
To lead us on to happiness, 

And guide the soul to heaven. 
It teaches how to die ; 
What nobler knowledge can the world supply ? 



xx. 



No wrong is done without its punishment, 
Nor right without a rich reward. 



THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 335 

The deed and consequence are blent — 
(Take heed with true regard) 
To invite or to repel ; 
The one is heaven, and the other hell ! 



XXI. 

The sacred tie, and moral law, 

Are fixed, and man must these obey 

In thought, in deed, and stand in awe ; 
If aught should break away 
The wise attending guide, 

He pays the penalty of human pride ! 

XXII. 

God's holy precepts never change ; 

Man's acts are governed by man's will: 
That here his obligations range 

Is clear ; then, soul, be still ; 

As dost - — for thou art free — 
Such thy rewards and punishments shall be! 

XXIII. 

Of death, perchance, I've had a dread, 
But now I hail him as a friend ; 

Unknown ; yet when the flesh is dead, — 
Life gone, there'll be an end 
Of every mortal pain ; 

And something tells me I shall live again ! 



336 THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 

XXIV. 

But life has had its happiness, 

I would not lightly cast it by. 
'Twas sweet, God gave it but to bless. 

'Tis meet that I should die ; 

And though life once was dear, 
'Tis painful now ; I would not linger here ! 

XXV. 

Come Death, and bear this dust away ; 

Its course is run, and it is thine ; 
Soon, soon ! Thou'rt welcome to the clay — 

Thy boon, though once 'twas mine. 
Strike, strike ! whate'er the pain, 
Without thy touch I cannot live again! 

XXVI. 

Take me, my mother, gently lay me 

Down to my rest, and softly cover me ; 
There laid, in spring's fresh robes array me, 
And spread young violets over me ; 
Tenderly smooth my pillow, 
And wake me no more with the storm or bil- 
low ! 



THE SOUL'S SOLILOQUY. 337 

XXVII. 

Softly the dews of night will fall, 

Brightly the morning rays will come ; 

The gloom will disappear, the pall 
And plume will pass, the tomb 
Will crumble into dust, 

As all things of the earth created must. 

XXVIII. 

Spirits will come with kindred tie 
And bear away that which is spirit, 

With flight along the earth and sky 
So light no ear shall hear it, 

And, hovering o'er the scene, 

Will fondly linger where the dust has been. 



Un worded voices of the air — 
The distant echoes of the deep 

And shore — will wail their requiums there; 
And o'er my head will sweep 
The inarticulate sighs 

Of restless nature sobbing to the skies. 



338 



THE SOUVS SOLILOQUY. 



XXX. 

Go, dust ; thou art the child of time ; 

It is not me that dies, but you. 
Ah, no ; I to a happier clime 

Shall go, and there renew 
My being in the skies, 
But with a purer life that never dies ! 




NOTES. 



Bettina to Goethe. — Page 243. 

Although no part of " Goethe's Correspondence with a 
Child " was written by Goethe, yet nevertheless it is a gen- 
uine book. Bettina von Arnim, the author, and herself "The 
Child," became an extraordinary woman. She was the sis- 
ter of Clemens Brentano, the poet; the wife of Ludwig von 
Arnim, one of the founders of the Romantic School of Ger- 
man Literature; and the friend and confidant of Karoline von 
Gunderode, the unhappy poetess, who committed suicide on 
account of her unreciprocated love for the learned George 
Frederick Kreuzer. Endowed with a bright, erratic mind and 
a sensitive heart — a wayward girl, her education being with- 
out control, and surrounded with such associations, it is not 
surprising that she worshiped the author of " The Sorrows 
of Werther," although he was sixty years of age at the time. 
Her regard for Goethe seems to have been a singular com- 
mingling of admiration, affection, veneration and passion. 
The " Correspondence " is warm and devoted, yet circum- 
spect, having been conducted through Goethe's mother, the 
Good Frau Rath. It is remarkable for child-like feeling and 
poetical sentiment, with occasional wide views and profound 
reflections. Bettina also published her correspondence with 
her unfortunate friend Gunderode, which is much of the same 
character. Goethe did not encourage her attachment to him, 
yet it is said the old poet received her homage with great 
complacency. It appears they never met but once. In the 



340 NOTES. 

decline of her life, she was surrounded with many of the lit- 
erary celebrities of the day, and was fond of her name, Bet- 
tina, even in her old age. She died in 1859 in her seventy- 
third year. The following poem is supposed to express some 
of the sentiments entertained by the Worshiper for her Idol. 



The Swaixow. — Page 268. 

At the time Bonaparte returned from Elba, Lamartine was 
a member of the King's military household. In consequence 
of the Imperial decrees for new levies of troops, it becnme 
necessary for him either to enter the ranks of the army under 
Napoleon, or furnish a substitute. He would do neither; and 
declared that rather than shed a drop of blood in the cause of 
what he deemed tyranny, he would be shot down by the Em- 
peror's order. Switzerland being neutral, he left for that 
country, without a passport, and without money, except a few 
francs which his mother gave him. All communication was 
at once cut off from France; he did not know that he could 
ever return. It was amidst the Alps, and under these circum- 
stances that he wrote this poem. 



The Banquet. — Page 279. 

This poem is taken from an English prose translation by 
Sir William Jones. 



Leon and Fidelia. — Page 303. 

Many years ago the following facts were related to the 
author by a ferryman at Rock Island. A young man, an 
active pioneer, poor, who had located in Iowa, became at- 
tached to the daughter of an older settler, wealthy, who re- 
sided in Illinois. The father of the girl, for some cause or 
other, made violent objections to the marriage of the lovers, 
who, after exercising as much patience as reasonably could 
be expected of them, agreed upon an elopement. The young 



NOTES. 



341 



man procured a friendly Indian with his canoe to take them 
across the Mississippi River above the Rapids. The time 
came; she hesitates; he persuades; she consents; they start; 
the night is stormy; they are swept down into the Rapids; 
the boat is about sinking; he proposes to leap out and lighten 
it; she clings to him; the Indian, in the mean time, springs 
into the water, and is lost — that they may be saved. The 
lovers make the land, are thankful, get married, and for aught 
the author knows, may be living happily somewhere in the 
great Northwest to this day. 




